It's Raining on My Hero
by Angel-of-the-silence
Summary: Five weeks post-Aliyah, Gibbs borrows Agent Cameron Hall from San Diego for an assignment. When a domestic dispute at Quantico turns deadly, the team must try to stay one step ahead of a killer who will stop at nothing to claim what is rightfully theirs.
1. One

Chapter One

I putter around my new house as I wait for a final coat of paint in the front room to dry. Peeking into the kitchen, I am excited to see that it is almost complete. Where there are still boxes and plastic covered furniture in the front room, the kitchen gleams with everything in its place.

I cross to the sink, and dump my roller, turn on the tap, and pour myself a plastic cup of iced tea. As I stir in a spoonful of sugar, I cast my gaze around the room barely able to believe that just two and a half weeks ago my request for transfer had been approved.

When I finish stirring, I decide to add a healthy hit of rum. 'Why not?' I think, 'I have nowhere to be tomorrow.' I took a full two weeks off to move so I could spend a few days with family between Everett and Washington DC.

As far as I'm aware, I shouldn't be joining Agent Casey's team for another two days. After a six month stint in narcotics, I feel more comfortable getting back into the violent crimes division.

In the living room, I contemplate my moving habits: I always unpack the kitchen first so I feel more settled. I am mildly annoyed that the dining room set I ordered didn't show up with the rest of my furniture. One whole half of the room looks ridiculous with no furniture whatsoever. On the rug in front of the fireplace, my black Dutch Shepherd dozes.

There are many things to be said for dogs, one of which is the fact that he doesn't care if I tell him how my day went. Good, bad, or dinner table inappropriate; he will always love me.

I reach down and scratch him behind the ears, "Hey, Traver," his ears snap up, "What do you think?" He wags his tail and rolls over to have me scratch his belly.

"I had a feeling," I say with a smile, indulging him.

Looking around the room, still so sparsely decorated, I sigh in contentment. This is the first house I've lived in since I was in high school. Too many years of apartment living has caused me to go overboard on furniture. A couch with matching loveseat, two end tables, an overstuffed chair, and a coffee table occupy space in the corner the owner had called the living room. On the mantle above me, a cd player cycles back to the first track and Rockapella tunes up to Pachabel's _Canon in D_.

Traver's head comes up off the rug and his ears raise in the direction of the door. A low growl builds in his throat, stilling my hand. Over the music, I hear a knock on my front door. Checking my watch, I see that it's almost 2200. Apprehension twists my stomach in knots. I contemplate grabbing my 229 before remembering I had left it on my bedside table.

I head for the door cautiously, tea in hand. Rolling my eyes at my appearance, I tell myself whoever's there will have to excuse my paint stained tank top, ratty shorts, and disheveled ponytail. Another knock sounds as I reach for the knob and crack the door. I can't even begin to imagine who is knocking on my door, especially at this hour.

Opening the door a crack, I find the last person I would have ever suspected.

"Agent Gibbs," I say in recognition, "What brings you all the way out to McLean at such an hour?"

"Heard you'd been transferred to the Yard."

I wait. So does he. He's not much of a conversationalist, but that isn't new. He'd been like this since I had met him during a murder investigation that had crisscrossed the Southwest.

"Oh, yes," I awkwardly nod and pick the exchange up, "I have."

Our conversation trails off once more. We stand there for several long seconds. In that time, I note that his hair has more silver than I remember. Six years have passed and time is telling, if only in his hair… and maybe a few more lines around his eyes.

He shuffles his feet on the porch, "Did you have a minute?" he asks, motioning inside.

"Of course… please come in. I'm not sure where my manners are." I say in apology, stepping back from the door so he can enter. My bare feet make sweaty 'pops' on the hardwood. He looks around the room before glancing back at me.

"This is a very nice place, how'd you come by this?" He asks, gesturing between the wood floors and large windows.

"I was fortunate enough to be standing in the real estate office waiting to be set up with a realtor when the guy who owned it struck up a conversation with me. Said he had lived here for years and hated to sell the place, but he was looking to downsize and travel Italy. He told me he had retired from the Navy several years ago, and was looking to hand it down. I told him about my years in the service, stating that I was not as recently separated from it, and the conversation really took off from there. I told him I'd be interested in seeing the house, and we left without even seeing a realtor. He showed me around, and I fell in love, told him I'd pay top dollar for it. He named a very reasonable price and I paid a down payment on the spot." Gibbs nods.

"Hmm," he murmurs, "I've been here once before."

"Really? I bought the house from AJ Chegwidden. Figured you might have crossed paths once or twice."

"Name sounds about right. Yeah, I thought this place looked familiar. I was here once about ten or fifteen years ago for some type of get together. Probably rubbing elbows with some of the JAG brass," He stands in the middle of the room looking around, "Place's in great shape."

On the stereo, Rockapella changes keys into Green Day's _Basket Case._

"Can I get you something to drink?" I ask.

"Coffee?" He asks, really looking at me for the first time since he came in. I can tell there's something he wants but I motion him towards the kitchen, waiting for him to come out and say it.

"I was a cop after I was a sailor, Gibbs… of course I have coffee. You know, NCIS should really instate a caffeine tolerance test at FLETC," I say. He laughs.

I busy myself pulling out my coffee machine. While I grind the beans, Gibbs looks around the kitchen. I unsnap the lid and pour the grounds into the filter and start the machine. Seeing his gaze wandering, I call him on it.

"Yeah, I'm odd. I move into my kitchen first, that way I can start making meals the first day. Doesn't take me as long to adjust when I start here. Please, have a seat." I motion to one of the barstools and he sits.

"That's a nice coffee maker," he observes. I hear Traver click into the kitchen; he sits on the rug in front of the sink and surveys Gibbs.

"Yeah. I don't like having to deal with a pot. It's one less thing for me to wash." The water heats quickly and I grab a cup. Putting it up to the dispenser, I push a button and wait for it to fill. When it's finished, I hand it to him and watch as he takes a sip.

"That's a fancy machine, makes pretty good coffee. The only thing that could make this better…" I pull a bottle of Woodrun's Reserve out from under the island, "Hey, that's the good stuff." he states appreciatively. I hand him the bottle and he pours, taking his time.

When he puts the bottle on the counter, he seems to square his shoulders as if preparing to speak.

Unfortunately, Traver chooses that moment to cozy up to Gibbs, putting his head on the agent's knee.

"Hi, there," he says, scratching Traver behind the ears. Whatever he had been on the verge of saying dies.

"That's Traver." Gibbs' head swings up to look at me questioningly, "Don't ask me… he came to me with the name. I have a friend who works a DEA K9 unit out in Seattle. Traver was being retired, and she wanted to place him with someone she trusted. Ergo, I snagged the best roommate a girl could ask for. The only thing he's bad at is wiping his feet."

He fixes me with eyes of cerulean, and I can see a smile dancing there.

"So… what brings you all the way out to McLean in the middle of the night?" I try to maneuver the subject back around to the reason for this late night visit.

"I talked to the director earlier. Your name came up in the conversation, as well as your transfer."

"And?" I prompt.

"I need a pinch hitter." His tone sobers as he sets his mug on the counter with a soft clunk. And there it is… Gibbs is calling in a favor that's been hanging over me for six years.

I stare at the counter for a few seconds before I speak. Sighing, I ask, "How long?"

"A couple of weeks… maybe a month."

"What's the deal? You got someone TAD?" I grab the jug of sun tea from the fridge and refresh my glass while trying not to act like I'm against the wall on this.

"Sort of."

"What's 'sort of'?" I use finger quotes… a bad habit I'd picked up in San Diego and one I knew Gibbs hadn't been fond of.

"It's a long story." He twists his mug on the counter.

"I've got time."

"'Long story,' means 'drop it'." His voice takes on a warning note, "I want you on my team, Cam." he says, taking another swig of his coffee and bourbon.

"I was looking for something more permanent," I start.

Gibbs cuts me off, snapping "I've got a lot on my plate and I just want someone on my team I can trust!" Dialing it back he adds, "and if I can't trust you after Anacostia…"

"Anacostia," I hiss, "You're a shitty salesman, Jethro Gibbs!" I snap. So the bastard was calling in his favor. He shrugs as if to say, 'take it or leave it.' I've never walked out on a favor yet, and I wasn't about to start now.

"I'll be your pinch hitter, Gibbs… but the subject of Anacostia is off limits." I put as much ice and menace in my voice as I can summon.

"For now?"

"Forever!" I snap, pinning him with my glare. The silence stretches between us for long moments. Neither of us breaks the eye contact, unwilling to be the first to budge.

Finally, Gibbs stands, quirking one silver brow at me and I can see that his outburst had really been directed elsewhere. I just can't help but get pissed off whenever anyone brings up that incident, and even Gibbs is not allowed to go there. He measures me with a look, nodding.

"Sounds good. You start tomorrow," he drains the last of his coffee. I take a deep, calming breath.

"You seemed awfully sure that I was going to let you cash in your favor."

"You just told me I can't talk about it," he shrugs before heading out of the kitchen and pauses at the door.

"Hey… don't let DiNozzo get to you." I stare at him in bewilderment.

"I have no idea what that means."

Gibbs chuckles at this, "You will. Heard hostility was your specialty."

I glare at him as much as I dare, "Yeah? Well, Kennedy has a big fat mouth, considering I kicked his ass six ways from Sunday." I smirk.

"I saw the mug shots… you didn't look so hot either." He says matter-of-factly and starts for the front door. I follow slowly.

"Guess I got what I deserved for fist-fighting on liberty." A smile twitches at the corners of Gibbs' lips.

I can't help but smile recalling the incident in question. It had gotten brought up years ago on the case we worked together. Turns out, then- Staff Sergeant Kennedy had once served under a hard-assed Gunny by the name of Gibbs, who had gotten a good laugh out of the fact that his former student had been beaten to hell by a sailor, and a woman to boot.

Sobering, I ask, "Does your team know they're getting me?" Gibbs looks at me with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

His lips twitch into a small, half smile as he opens the front door, "They will."

I return to the kitchen and pour out my tea.


	2. Two

Chapter Two

My alarm goes off at five am, and I decide to forego my typical morning run in favor of an extra long shower. Stepping out of the shower, I wander to my closet and spend entirely too long trying to pick something to wear today.

With half my closet strewn across my bed, I finally settle on a smart blazer, slacks and boots, betting that I'll spend the day flying a desk. I pick up my Celtic knot pendant, and pull it on over my head before I pull my hair back in a banana clip and apply a light dusting of makeup. With a final check of my makeup and a quick tug at the hair that curls down the back of my neck, I step back and drum my fingers on the rim of the basin, satisfied.

Look up at the clock, I hit full panic mode when I see that it's already after six. I bolt downstairs and hurriedly fix myself a cup of coffee. Gibbs will be pissed if I'm late for my very first day. Traver comes into the kitchen, toenails clicking on the wood. I scratch his ears roughly before dumping a cup of food in his dish.

"Hey, big man. I'm sorry I didn't take you for your run, but I'm in a hurry."

I let him out to do his business and put a lid on my coffee mug, grabbing my purse off the bar on my way out. I holler for Traver and he comes at a sprint. Letting him into the house, I lock the door and scramble for my car.

Jumping in, I turn the key and gun the engine, peeling out of my driveway. I stop at the street, and the Focus spits gravel as I put my foot to the floor and head east. Once I hit the Beltway, I turn the stereo up and blast Bond's _Shine_. Traffic is terrible but I somehow manage to hit every green light on my way to the Navy Yard.

Pulling into a parking space in the lot, I make a dash for the building. I pass security, flashing my badge and emptying my pockets. I ask directions to the personnel office. Following a first floor hallway, I pass the firmly closed door to the Office of Special Services. Suppressing the heebeejeebies, I find the personnel office just a few doors down.

The agent there updates my photo on file with the agency, issues me parking passes and a bunch of other junk that I really don't need, including a building map. The poor guy seems to be the typical, standard issue office agent: suit, tie, vague expression, and bored tone. He escorts me to the elevator and gets on. At the third floor, he essentially boots me out of the elevator and into the bullpen. As I turn to ask a question, he advises, "Take it up with your senior agent."

The door shuts and I'm alone in the midst of controlled chaos.

Shit.

'What an ass,' I think. Turning, I look across a roomful of agents. The squad room seems to consist of four or six stations and each station seems to have about four agents to a group. Every face is new, re-enforcing why I despise being the new kid. 'If I know Gibbs, I'm guessing not a lot has changed,' I think, heading off down the aisle and searching for the only face I know. Nearing the end of the aisle, I feel my spirits sink. I haven't seen anyone I know.

Rounding the last group of desks, I come face to face with Gibbs. Inwardly, I sigh in relief.

"Agent Gibbs," I say.

"Agent Hall." He acknowledges. Two of the three desks behind him are full, and the occupants are focused on our conversation.

"Where do I start?" I ask.

"There." I look at the desk he indicates. Nothing has been moved since the last agent was there. Gibbs turns to look at his team, "Get back to work, I want reports on my desk by noon." He gestures that I should sit.

Great.

Before I can get there the man to my left stands up, extends his hand and shakes mine, "Tim McGee, I do a lot of tech work, so if you need some help getting up and running, I'd be glad to help you out." He attempts a half smile that falls flat. I smile back.

"Thanks." I turn to the second man. He's very good-looking even though he flashes me a disgruntled scowl. I extend my hand. He ignores it, kicking back in his desk chair, curling his lip, and showing off an arm in a sling as an excuse. Recognition dawns on me.

"You must be DiNozzo."

"And you must be the replacement," he says harshly. Gibbs leans over DiNozzo's desk, drawing back his hand. The younger man cringes, dropping his feet to the floor.

"Tony," Gibbs warns.

"Yeah, Boss?" Tony is less disgruntled and more tense, waiting for the hand to fall.

"Shake the woman's hand." DiNozzo reluctantly offers his good hand. I take it and shake firmly. DiNozzo applies steady pressure, and I can feel the bones in my hand grinding together. I try not to show my discomfort.

"Nice to meet you," his tone suggests that he would rather have stepped in dog crap than met me.

"You too." We stand there for another moment before we drop hands. I feel like rubbing mine, but I won't give him the satisfaction.

While gets to work on various assignments, I elect to get my area under control. Pushing my computer monitor around, I settle for putting it between myself and DiNozzo. I try not to get into drawers or mess with too much, knowing it will be ill- received.

Taking personal items from the desk's previous tenant off the desktop, I place them carefully in the bottom right-hand drawer. I pick up a half filled legal pad, and note a feminine script. A photo of a man lays face up in the center drawer. I keep an eye out for a picture of the person who sat here before me, my curiosity piqued. I keep moving things with the eye to the fact that the occupant will, possibly, be returning.

McGee and DiNozzo leave and return several minutes later with three fresh coffees. Neither offers me the third cup. I try to concentrate on setting up the desktop of my computer so I can navigate it more comfortably. Clicking off or minimizing several open windows, I am stopped in my tracks by a window which refuses to close. After several minutes, and a frustrating go at a prompt in Hebrew, I ask McGee to help.

Leaning down he looks at the program, "It's an e-mail site. I think it's asking you to save your draft. But I don't know which is yes or no," he taps at some keys.

"Do you want to save…" his fingers reach for the keys, "No…"

"Yes!" DiNozzo practically shouts across the seven feet of space between us. Catching himself he continues, "Save it, Probie. It might be something important." McGee rolls his eyes softly, but copies and pastes the draft to a word document before closing the window. Gibbs chooses this moment to interrupt us.

"Hall, while you've got a minute," he trails off, stands, and crooks a finger in my direction.

"Sure." I say, wondering what's going on. Gibbs takes off past my desk and I follow. As I walk past DiNozzo's desk, he glances up. I stare back. He halfheartedly curls his lip at me, and I cock my eyebrow as if to say, "bring it on." As I turn, I catch Gibbs giving us both an icy stare.

"Get back to work, DiNozzo," Gibbs growls.


	3. Three

_**Chapter Three**_

_**When we get to the elevator, Gibbs speaks.**_

"_**What did I tell you about him?"**_

"_**Don't let him get to me," I say, glancing over at him. The doors open and we get on alone. Gibbs hits a number and we start down.**_

"_**He's going through a rough patch. We lost a member of our team a couple of weeks ago."**_

"_**I thought this was a temporary position," I start.**_

"_**She's not dead, Hall… she's on hiatus." I nod. So the absent woman was DiNozzo's partner. **_

_**I ask, "Where are we going?" **_

"_**Reacquainting you with my people." When the elevator stops, we get off and head down the hall towards Autopsy.**_

"_**Don't think they're busy," he says as the door swishes open. The room smells of disinfectant and cold metal.**_

"_**Does that mean Dr. Mallard is still here?" I ask. He nods, giving me a half smile.**_

"_**I think Director Vance is going have to burn the building down to force him out," he chuckles to me, "Ducky, you busy?" he asks the older man who is sitting with his back to us. The man turns. The fatherly features have changed little in six years, and neither has the friendly smile.**_

"_**Jethro! Not too busy, no rest for the weary, I'm afraid." He looks to me, "Agent Hall… I'm sorry, Cameron," I offer my hand and he shakes.**_

"_**How are you, Ducky?" I smile.**_

"_**Busy as always, I'm afraid. What brings you to Washington?"**_

"_**I've been assigned to Gibbs," a momentary look of concern crosses the older man's features and he looks to Gibbs.**_

"_**It's temporary, Duck. Until Ziva can get some things figured out." A flicker of relief shows in Ducky's eyes. **_

"_**Not that it isn't nice to see you, my dear…" he turns back to me. **_

"_**Of course. It's hard worrying about some one you care very much about."**_

"_**You are wise beyond your years." **_

"_**I'm not as young as you think I am… but I believe the philosophy is, 'it's not the years, it's the mileage'," I quip, and he smiles, shaking my hand again.**_

"_**It's very nice to see you again, Cam."**_

"_**It's good to see you too, Ducky." Going back the way we came, Gibbs takes me to the next floor up. **_

_**When we get off the elevator, he turns to me and puts a finger to his lips. I follow him across the hall and into another lab. Goth-rock music is blaring and twin pigtails in jet black bob along to the rhythm.**_

"_**What've you got, Abs?" Gibbs shouts over the music. The girl jumps a mile and swings to face us. Her appearance is shocking. Beneath her white lab coat, she wears a lot of black and a lot of chains. Around her neck is a dog collar, which partially obscures a spider web tattoo.**_

"_**Gibbs, you've got to start warning me! You're going to give me a heart attack if you don't stop sneaking up on me." She turns to me and locks onto me with sparkling green eyes. A huge, smile spreads across her face, "Hi, Cam! What are you doing here?"**_

"_**I'm working with Gibbs."**_

"_**What case?" She asks, confusion playing across her features.**_

"_**None yet. I've been assigned…" Abby's grin falters. I can practically hear the record scratch to a stop when her smile disappears. I trail off as she cuts her gaze at Gibbs.**_

"_**How could you just replace Ziva, Gibbs? She's family!" She storms off into her office, and attempts to slam the sliding glass door. Dissatisfied with the feeble results, she opens the door and tries to close it more forcefully. When it bounces open, she closes it hard and locks it.**_

"_**Abbs!" Gibbs calls rolling his eyes and crossing to the door. She turns her back.**_

"_**Abby, open this goddamned door and talk to me." He pauses and she doesn't move, "Hey!" he shouts, smacking the flat of his palm against the glass, causing the lab tech to jump. Inside the office, the Goth turns, tears streaking her face, and starts signing something angrily.**_

"_**What's going on?" I ask.**_

"_**Abby's pissed," is all he offers, signing back to her while speaking out loud, "She's just doing me a favor."**_

"_**Not good enough." She pouts aloud through the glass. When she turns her back for the second time, I choose to leave. Standing in the hall, I wait for Gibbs. It takes several minutes, and he looks a little rough around the edges. This time, we take the stairs. At the second landing he pauses. **_

"_**How's your first day?" He asks lightly.**_

"_**The hate and mistrust make my world go 'round," I smart off, catching his eye.**_


	4. Four

Chapter Four

Back on the third floor, we make our way back to our desks. Gibbs glances sideways at me as we approach. I see DiNozzo with his feet up on his desk. He's facing away from us and talking.

"I don't get it. Who the hell does Gibbs think she is?" he asks darkly. McGee locks onto us, and I see DiNozzo tense, dragging his feet slowly to the floor and sitting up straighter.

"He's behind me, isn't he?"

"I'd leave her alone, DiNozzo… she bites." Gibbs says over the cubicle wall, causing DiNozzo to turn quickly. Looking at him over Gibbs' shoulder, I grin and click my jaw together in a biting motion.

DiNozzo curls his lip at me and goes back to his paperwork. After about twenty minutes, Gibbs gets a summons to MTAC and disappears. Five minutes later, DiNozzo comes and perches on the edge of my desk. He cranes his neck, looking to see how much damage I've caused here before shifting the sling to a more comfortable position.

"So, what did you do prior to coming to NCIS?" I glance up at him. His tone is somewhat curious, bordering on petulant.

"I was a Master at Arms," I say carefully, going back to organizing my desk.

"Where at?" He chews a pen thoughtfully.

"Don't end your sentences with prepositions, it makes you sound uneducated." I shuffle papers around.

"Where at, _probie_?" He asks with a smirk.

I narrow my eyes at the intended slur, but answer the question, "My last posting was in Norfolk."

"How long were you there?" He drums his fingers on my monitor.

"Off and on for four years." I swat his hand away.

"Four years, really? Did you actually get to do any real police work? I mean, let's face it… Master at Arms isn't quite like being a real cop." There's an incredulous tone in his voice that sets my teeth on edge. I see where this is going… he thinks that being a civilian cop makes him a better investigator.

"Really? 'Cause I had a caseload there that says otherwise." I say, stepping up and playing his game, "You name it, it came across my desk at some point or another."

"So, you've actually worked rapes, thefts, hostage situations, and murders?"

"Believe it or not, I have… but only three of them were commonplace. I only worked one hostage situation, in Naples. Stupid kid took over the Base Exchange because they didn't stock his favorite socks. Apparently, it was the straw that broke the camel's back, and he snapped. But murder is the worst. Drug interdiction sucks, too."

"Yeah… did you have a problem with crack dealers offing one another? That was a big favor for us in Philly," DiNozzo has a bravado in his voice that his body language tells me he doesn't feel.

"Ah, because if it's one crack dealer killing another, it's less of a crime?" I query softly, leaning back in my chair.

"You don't see it like that?" He asks, looking at me over his shoulder.

"I think that it doesn't matter. At the end of the day, there is one less human being in the world."

"That's touching," DiNozzo scoffs, narrowing his grey-green eyes.

"We all share in the death of every human being." I meet his gaze, and see a dark cloud descend on his features.

"Doctor Phil?" he asks sarcastically, leaning away from me.

"Temperance Brennan." I counter, sitting forward. His face takes on several different shapes as he seems to consider my words.

"You didn't answer my question." Agent DiNozzo settles on a curious expression.

"No, I didn't."

"Are you going to?" He asks.

"I am not." He nods, shifting the subject.

"That's a nice necklace you're wearing there." I roll my eyes.

"Thank you." I sit back in my chair and tuck the pendant back inside my shirt, careful not to catch the garnet stone on my shirt.

"Celtic knot… symbolizes eternity. I'm trying to figure out what the red stone is for."

"And?" I ask tersely.

"I'm trying to figure out is if you're actually of Celtic descent, or if you're just a wannabe." I can see that he is genuinely trying to steer us towards a lighter topic.

"Did my incredibly red hair give it away, DiNozzo?" I try to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"That incredible red can be purchased."

"Ah, but not the penchant to burn easily." I say, hissing through my teeth in memory of sunburns past. The curse of being a redhead.

"Do you burn easily?" He quirks an eyebrow, and I begin to see real interest.

"Yeah. I went to Cozumel with a guy I used to date, and I spent the trip miserable from a second degree burn."

"Ouch," DiNozzo winces theatrically, "So, were you two pretty serious?" He's feeling out how I am with the opposite sex, drawing some kind of line in the sand.

"Nah, his daddy had a lot of money, and I had two weeks of liberty coming up, so we took off and went." I step up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that McGee is hanging on every word.

"How did he convince you to go? Candlelit dinner? Wine? Roses?" DiNozzo asks… and I get the sense that he can be a romantic underneath all the macho bullshit.

"He bought me a six pack of Bud Light and said, 'So… uh… you wanna go to Mexico?'"

"Really? You seem like the wine and roses type, Agent Hall." DiNozzo says.

"Well, believe it or not, I'm more of a 'drink beer in the back of a truck' kind of girl," I smile, "Not much else to do in a small town."

He returns to his own desk and sits, steepling his fingers, "How small? Are we talking suburbia or Mayberry?"

I go to Gibbs' desk and pick up the paper copy of my file. Tossing it to him, I invite him to read it over.

"You can't do that!" McGee splutters from his desk, giving himself away.

"Then he'd better go through it quickly, before Gibbs gets back." DiNozzo stares up at me. I place the file in his hand and wink.

"Don't lie, DiNozzo… you were going to read it no matter what. But, I guess it isn't as much fun when the person you're spying on tells you to have at."

"I don't need it." He says, cocking an eyebrow at me.

"Of course you don't. I should have known you'd start digging on my files the second I sat down."

"Private pilot's license, second degree black belt, and you own two vehicles in the state of Washington, now Virginia, a 2005 Ford Focus, and a 2007 Ducati Sport Classic Sport 1000Sa. I want to know why the Porsche didn't go with you." Tony gives me a look as if to ask how he did.

"Yeah," I say wistfully, "Sold my '68 Indian about five and a half years ago. That nearly broke my heart. I spent three years working on that bastard." I sigh, and come to sit on the edge of DiNozzo's desk, "And I didn't take the 911 because I didn't have anywhere to keep it. Car like that doesn't stay in one place long if it gets left out… if you know what I mean."

"Don't think for a minute that I'm ok with you here," he says, without malice.

"It's hard to lose your partner," I say, pushing off his desk and returning to mine, "I haven't gotten rid of anything because I hope she'll be back too." I admit, and watch the expressions kaleidoscope across his face before he snaps his gaze back to his paperwork.

The bullpen is quiet for long moments as we all get back to whatever we had been doing. The silence doesn't last nearly as long as I'd have thought.

"Do you still own it?" Of course DiNozzo's curious about the Porsche.

"Yeah."

"What color?" His curiosity sounds cool.

I flick a look at him, "Black."

"What did you drive today?"

"The Focus. Why?"

"No particular reason."

"You want to take a spin in the Carrera?" I ask..

"Not really, I was just curious" I look over and meet his gaze.

"Sure you were."


	5. Five

Chapter Five

Shortly after five, I'm out of headquarters. Due to the case they're working on, I really have nothing to do. Gibbs lets me go home at a decent hour.

Sharon calls me on my cell as I'm trapped in traffic. She and her husband are going to trailer the Porsche from Falls Church to McLean to drop it off for me. I invite her over for dinner Friday, but she declines.

"At least stay for a bit this evening." I say.

"Will do. Ice down that sweet tea, it's hotter than the hubs of hell out here," she says with a chuckle. I share her laughter before hanging up. Well over an hour after I left the Yard, I make it home. Going to the door, I let myself in as Traver lets himself out. I putter around the kitchen, letting Traver back in when he returns to the kitchen door. Feeding the Shepherd, I fix a dinner of yogurt and granola for myself.

When I finish, I turn on the lights in the den and begin to unpack boxes in earnest. My largest box is nothing but Navy stuff. I uncover a chair and toss a Navy throw over the camel colored suede. I pull out a US Navy rug and put it in front of the door. Pulling navy blue curtains out of the box, I almost swear out loud when I discover that I don't have enough fabric to cover the whole window. In thirty minutes, I've cleared out the box, and filled the den with memorabilia.

A knock on the door keeps me from starting on the living room. Opening it, I find Sharon and a very attractive man about her age standing on my front porch. She grabs me in a fierce hug.

"Hey, Sharon!"

"Hey, Cameron!" she pulls away, "This is my husband, Steve." I shake his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, please, come in. I want to show you my new house." I step back and motion them inside.

"All of your stuff is still in boxes," Sharon says.

"Come around here to the back, Look at the kitchen and the den." I show them through my very lived in kitchen and into my newly furnished den.

"Oh, wow. Cam, I like this room a lot." Sharon examines every corner of the room, "Where is it?" she asks.

"I was waiting for you," I say, leading her back to the living room. Pulling open a box, I hand her a picture frame. Tears spring to her eyes as she cradles a picture of Jack in his whites.

"I'd be honored if you'd put it on the mantle for me. That picture has a place of honor in every apartment I've lived in. I think, now that I have a house, he should go on the mantle." She nods, and places the frame in the center of the mantle.

"That's Jack." Steve states, catching sight of the photo.

"Yeah, Jack was Cam's partner. That's how I know her. She'd come to Easter and Thanksgiving dinners with Jack because her family's all in the Mid-West. She'd save her time off for Christmas."

"Jack was my best friend." I say simply, "And six years ago, I let him down."

"It's water under the bridge now." Sharon says, squeezing my arm. A clicking of toenails across the floor draws our attention. Traver goes straight to Sharon and sits at her feet.

"Hi there, sweetheart!" she exclaims, petting him behind the ears, "What's your name?"

"Traver." Sharon looks up at me, questioningly.

"That's an odd name."

"He came to me with that name. He worked for the DEA for several years. When he got too old to do it, my friend started looking for a retirement home for him… so when he retired, he came to me." I look down at the dog, "Besides, he's got a great sense of humor."

"Traver, it's chick flick night." The Shepherd yawns theatrically, before looking up with honest golden eyes.

"Oh, my god. How did you teach him that?" Sharon asks. Traver rolls onto his back trying to con Sharon into rubbing his belly. She does. The Shepherd grins, tongue lolling from the corner of his mouth.

"I didn't teach him," I throw my hands up in mock defense, "When he finds something I do or say boring, he yawns that big theatrical yawn. If you mention b-a-t-h, he hides… and the r-word is a dangerous one, too" She shakes her head in question.

"R-u-n," Steve supplies and the Shepherd shoots to his feet, tail wagging furiously.

"Ah, dammit!" I exclaim, "I guess I should have mentioned that he knows how to spell it too… it's my fault for teaching him that." I motion the dog down.

We go out and unload the Porsche, I pull open the garage while Steve unhooks the winch. Sharon watches until we start pushing, and Traver investigates everything in the backyard as we sweat and grunt trying to get 2,000 pounds of metal and fiberglass into my narrow garage.

"I don't understand why you took apart the drive shaft before you had us store it," Sharon grunts, as we try to rock the car into gaining momentum.

"Well, neither of you expressed an interest in driving it… I didn't want some punk taking an interest, if you know what I mean." We gain several inches before the car starts to roll again.

Steve digs in and stops pushing for a moment to laugh, "You should see our neighborhood, Cam. I think Sharon and I are the youngest people on our block by a good twenty years."

"I don't know, I know some ornery old farts that'd take a car like this for a joyride without a second thought," I point out as we finally get it rolling and heave the car the last few feet into the garage.

"Well, at least they'd have enough of a nest egg to replace it if anything happened," Steve shrugs, chuckling.

"I'm trying to picture my new boss screaming around in something like this," I say, giggling, "But I just can't. If he drove anything other than that piece of shit pick-up that he's had since the last time I was out here, I'm not sure what I'd do. I'd just…"

"Faint?" Steve asks.

"Crap?" Sharon supplies.

"I'd probably drop dead." I grin.

"I hope not, sweetie, I kind of like you."

"I don't think I have a lot to worry about, Shar."

I break out the tea and pour each of us a glass. Steve turns out to be a pretty funny guy, and I extend an open invitation to them to come back whenever they want. After they leave, Traver and I head back to the garage to get the Porsche put back together.

An hour later, covered in sweat, grease, and dirt, and nearly hoarse from swearing, I head back inside and jump in the shower.

I towel off, run my fingers through my curls and pull on faded cut offs and a tank top. Fixing myself another glass of tea, I stand in my living room and survey what I still have left to do. Since the paint is dry, I decide to start by hanging curtains and unrolling a large rug.

When I'm finished with that, I move on to the furniture. Uncovering a couch and loveseat that match the chairs in my den, I pull out throw pillows and an art deco throw for the back of the couch in reds and black. I wrestle the coffee table onto the rug. Outside, the last of the late summer sun has faded, and I unpack various knick-knacks and lamps.

Crawling around the floor, I get everything plugged in before making sure each lamp has a new bulb. Adding candles to the mantle, framing Jack's picture, I step back for a moment to appreciate the small memorial. Finally, I check to make sure my electronics work and take a moment to sit in the now finished room.

At 2200. I decide to turn in for the night.

In my bedroom, I unpack a box of clothes and shoes, taking the time to put them away. By 2230 I'm in a satin nightgown, and sliding between my sheets. I lie awake and let my mind wander back to San Diego six years ago.

_2003_

_Walking down a narrow passage, I count offices until I hit the fifth door on my left. Pushing the door open, I see the guys are waiting for me. _

_My senior agent, Berry, looks like a berry… especially when he's mad. He has an unfortunate pate of hair, receding at the temples yet still relatively full on top. That hair sits above a wide forehead and cheeks that taper to a point of a chin. He's tall, but filled in, not too skinny and not fat by any stretch of the imagination. _

_He is already in mid-sentence when I arrive._

"… _So, I got told that I've got to pick two of you geniuses to send on an investigation."_

"_Excuse me, sir… but the plural of 'genius' would be 'geni'." Norman Shanks, next in the chain of command, pipes up. Wiping his brow in an exaggeration of how hard he'd had to work for this little English lesson, Shanks looks like one of the Belushis. His dark hair is thinning on top, even though he's barely forty and a small beer gut belies how fast he can move when provoked._

"_Shut-it," Berry says as one word, "Genius is an exception to the rule… which is why I'll be keeping you here. Better luck next time, Professor." Berry's eyes rove between me and Jack Winslow, my usual partner in crime and best friend._

"_Well, I guess it's you two then. I was going to go with Shanks until the dummy tried to correct my English."_

"_Yer English is more gooder than mine, sir." Shanks tries a different approach._

"_Yeah, I don't think so, slick. You and I have our own case. It's a UA… your favorite, if I'm not mistaken," Berry teases Shanks, "You two go on up and see Special Agent in Charge Bishop, She's expecting you." Winslow and I look questioningly at each other before moving to leave._

_Getting on the elevator, I break the silence, "So what do you make of our little field trip?"_

"_Well, I make of it that some egghead Commander got himself made roadkill about an hour ago outside Kingman. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine." He shrugs. With his dark hair carefully tousled and a slight hint of stubble, Jack could be a movie star. Too bad for Hollywood that the US Government owns Jack's soul over some hacking he got caught doing in college._

_When the elevator deposits us on the top floor, we enter the vestibule of the SAC's office. The two of us are ushered into Special Agent in Charge Bishop's office immediately. _

_Sharon Bishop stands at the window, her back to us. Southern California sunlight sparkles in bobbed hair that was once blonde but is now well on it's way to ash. A tasteful beige pantsuit compliments her hair, and she turns slightly to acknowledge us, black framed glasses slipping down her nose, making her look more like a college professor than a federal agent. Her personal assistant, Tommy, indicates that we should sit, and pours us both a cup of coffee. After he has left and closed the door behind himself, Bishop turns fully._

"_I assume you two know why you're here, so we can cut the crap?" she asks, voice graveled from a pack a day habit for the last twenty plus years. When we nod, she faces away from us, and delivers her briefing to the window, "Commander Jackson Phillips was a senior engineer at the Navy's weapons research think tank out in the desert at Los Alamos, and from what we can piece together, he was on his way to San Diego when he lost control of his vehicle and crashed into a tree."_

_Jack and I sip our coffee as the SAC continues, "When he was discovered by the paramedics, he was unresponsive and covered in physical abrasions which included a six inch incision across his chest. The medics also surmised that the Commander's nipples had been cut off, and not due to trauma from the accident." I flick a glance to Jack to find that both of his eyes have crossed, and his face is contorted in mock pain. Narrowing my eyes at him, I let him know that I'm somewhat less than amused. Knowing Jack, he's just dying to put his hands up to protect his own nipples. Bishop turns quickly, almost catching Jack._

"_I need to send two of you to Arizona to assist on this. Now, you not only have to play well with the locals, but I got a personal phone call from Director Morrow about ten minutes ago that he's got a second NCIS team assembling to meet you there. All I know for sure is that Commander Phillips was working on the Navy's top secret second generation ARES system… I want you to find that program prototype yesterday." It's a clear dismissal, and Jack and I both shoot to our feet and say, "Yes, ma'am." She flicks a look at the two of us and sends us on our way. When we get to the door, she speaks again, this time peering at Jack over the tops of her glasses._

"_Agent Winslow… your mockery does not amuse me. I sincerely hope your mother warned you that your face might stick like that." A single quirked brow hovers above cool blue eyes that dance a little in merriment. Jack is completely busted._

"_Yes, ma'am… only every day," he grins._

_In the outer office, Tommy hands the two of us manila folders. Cracking them back in the office, Jack suddenly looks up._

"_How the hell are we supposed to get out there?"_

"_I'm glad you asked that, Winslow… you win the grand pooh-bah prize, five hours in a 'luxury' government sedan with the lovely, super Special Agent Cameron Hall," Shanks spreads his arms and chuckles._

"_You do realize that I'm armed, right?" I point to the holstered Sig Sauer hanging on a hook above my desk._

"_You know my favorite saying, Cam… 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me'," I pantomime thumbing the hammer back on the gun I make with my forefinger and thumb, and he shrugs, "I kid, honey. Your travel orders just came through. Go pick up your vehicle of choice." Jack rolls his eyes and takes the travel orders from Shanks' desk. I resist the urge to tell Shanks he's number one… with my middle finger._

"_Well, looks like we have plenty of time for a Twisted Sister tour." Jack quips and I groan, slipping my holster into my waistband. We bid our buddy Shanks and our boss Berry a fond adieu, promising to return at the end of the investigation with Route 66 souvenirs for both of them._

_In the elevator, we head down to the motor pool. Stopping in the sub basement, we take our travel orders over to Barbara, who has been handing out the keys since sometime in the late eighties. She looks over our documents with a practiced eye before disappearing. I set our equipment down._

"_What do you think, Cam?" Jack asks, "Tactical Assualt Vehicle? Humvee?"_

"_Well, since we can't afford the helo, I'm hoping for the Stratus," I say and Jack rolls his eyes, "What? I want the air conditioner."_

"_Wuss," he pushes._

"_You can sweat your ass off in the Mojave in a Humvee or TAV, any time you want… as long as I don't have to tag along." I say, turning back to Barbara. She tosses the keys on the counter. We grab for the keys at the same time. Pulling back we pump our fists three times in a quick game of 'rock, paper, scissors,' to see who will drive._

_When Jack's fist slaps against his open palm in 'rock,' I take my open palm, 'paper,' and shove him. When he stumbles backwards to get his balance, I sweep the keys off the counter._

"_You cheater!" he exclaims._

"_Hey, you're the one who was farting around. I won fair and square since 'paper' beats 'rock,' dummy." He grumbles and grabs the bags of equipment. We enter the garage and I match the number on the keys to a Dodge Stratus. As extra punishment for bitching about losing, I make Jack load the equipment in the trunk. Getting in, I adjust the seat and mirrors. Jack gets in and plays, laying the seat as far back as it will go._

"_Man, I wish I'd had one of these in college!" he exclaims, head nearly in the back seat._

"_Why, the Yugo just not quite the chick magnet of your dreams?"_

"_Hearty har har, Cam. I could have _lived_ in here in college and saved a fortune." He snaps his seat back upright._

"_Yeah, well, when we go to your place, you can just move right on in," I say, turning the engine over, "Twisted Sister's not invited." Jack grumbles under his breath at my musical slur as I pull out into mid day San Diego traffic. I squint and pull out my sun glasses. _

_Driving across the city, I pull in at Jack's building._

"_This may take awhile, you might as well come up." Turning the engine off, I follow Jack up the six flights of stairs to his apartment. Entering, he tosses his keys in a dish by the door._

"_Make yourself at home. I'm going to change before we leave," he says over his shoulder before disappearing into his bedroom. I close the door behind me and go straight to the fridge. Grabbing a can of Dr. Pepper for myself, I snag a Sprite for him._

"_Hey, grab me a…" he sticks his head out the door, and I toss the can at him, "You're frightening, you know?" I grin over the top of my can. For as sophomoric as we act, Jack and I have been friends ever since I got here. We are probably the reason the both of us have problems with significant others. My last boyfriend dumped me the night he met Jack… ditto on Jack's last two girlfriends._

_I toss back another drink of Dr. Pepper. Jack brings his bag out to the couch and zips it shut before tugging on a t-shirt. Slugging back the last of my drink, I bank the can off the refrigerator and into Jack's environmentally friendly recycle box._

"_Ready?" I ask._

"_Yeah. Do you have sunscreen?"_

"_What, are you watching your girlish good looks?" I shoot back._

_Jack gives a half curl of his lip, "Aren't you funny? I was actually trying to look out for you. Didn't want you to have that sunburn from hell again." Jack references the first time he and I were partnered, and I tried to be Dirty Harriet at the pier. I had paid for it the next week with a sunburn so bad, I'd ended up in the emergency room blistered and swollen._

"_Yeah, I've got sunscreen, jackass," I reply and Jack tips his head back to laugh._

Glancing at the clock, I see that it's 0300. I haven't slept a wink, I've just rolled around. Throwing back the covers, I pull on my shorts and tank top from last night and finish unpacking boxes in my bedroom. At 0530, I realize that I finally have my downstairs fully unpacked. By 0615, I've changed, put gym clothes, an extra toothbrush, hairbrush, and makeup in a bag to leave at work. I get Traver loaded up in the car so he can hang out with me while I work.


	6. Six

Chapter Six

The Dutch Shepard is excited to be going with me, and I'm glad he's coming. He watches everything that passes with intense interest. Driving down the beltway, traffic is light until I hit the 295 loop outside the Navy Yard. Traffic slows to a crawl and Traver's nose is glued to the window.

"This is a real change from San Diego isn't it, boy?" I ask sarcastically, the driver in the car behind me blares their horn. Traver looks over at me, and I swear he rolls his eyes as if to say, "some people."

"You're going to have a good time with me today." I promise. Pulling out my cell phone, I call the furniture place and remind them that I have still not received my dining room set. They offer to deliver it that afternoon, and I tell them to leave it on the porch. I figure I'll get out my tools and dismantle it to carry it in piece by piece and put it back together. Finally pulling into my brand new parking spot, I get out and let Traver out behind me.

Grabbing his leash, we walk to security and the guards eye the dog.

"You can't take him in there, this is a federal building." one of them says.

"Well, you see… this dog is evidence, and it was too hot to leave him in the evidence bay overnight, so I found him a cool place to stay, and I'm bringing him in to the forensics techs." They narrow their eyes at me. I flash my badge, and they grudgingly wave me through. Their eyes watch my every move as I head to the elevator and go down instead of up. Getting off at the lab floor, I follow the Goth rock down the hall and find Abby asleep on her computer.

I place my hand on her shoulder and she bolts upright.

"Sorry, boss! I just closed my eyes for a sec- Cam!" She trails off when she realizes it's just me. I see her brows knit together, and I hope to avoid a repeat of yesterday.

"Hey, can you do me a favor? I need you to keep an eye on some 'evidence' for me," I hook my fingers around the word 'evidence,' and I watch Abby's eyes follow the leash in my hand down to Traver.

"Awww!" she exclaims and bends down to pet him, "Aren't you just the cutest thing? Where did we get you?"

"Abby, this is Traver. He's my dog, but I haven't gotten him a doggy door yet, and he got left a little too long last night. I'm afraid he's going to make a mess, so I brought him with me and told the guys upstairs that he was evidence so they'd let me bring him in." Abby looks up at me, brows still dark, but less threatening.

"That's cool. Me and Traver'll just hang out down here; he can stay in my office." She cuddles him a little bit, "How cool is this, Traver?" she asks placing one of her pigtails over his head, "We match!"

"I trust you two will be ok?"

"Oh, yeah… go on upstairs." She smiles at the dog.

"Thank you, Abby," I wait for her to look up, eyebrows set in an irritated scrunch, "I owe you big time." The eyebrows finally settle back into a neutral position. I head for the elevator and go straight upstairs.

"Dead marine at Quantico, grab your gear," Gibbs says, striding into the bullpen. I grab my crime scene bag and watch DiNozzo struggle with his. Stepping up, I offer to help.

"Need a hand?" I ask. DiNozzo growls at me and swings the bag onto his right shoulder. Reaching out, he angrily snatches my cup of coffee. I roll my eyes and vow to be the bigger person and let it slide. On the elevator, DiNozzo ignores me. McGee at least attempts to be friendly.

On the first floor, we get out and enter the garage area. At the truck, we're getting ready to load up, and McGee hops into the back with our bags. Crawling up front, DiNozzo puts himself between me and Gibbs before shoving the coffee cup back into my hand.

"I don't know how you two drink that crap," he grouses. I understand he's pissed off about losing his partner, but I'm already tired of the drama queen attitude. Shrugging, I scoot as close to the door as I can and belt myself in. Gibbs squeals the tires a little bit as he takes off, from the back I hear a heavy 'thump'.

"I'm good!" McGee shouts. Gibbs switches lanes to get on the 295, and a second thump follows. No response. I sip my coffee and wait for someone to break the silence.

It's a quiet ride.

We are greeted at the door by an MP who shows us through the kitchen and into a small office/ workout space. Our victim, identified as Lance Corporal Darryl Walker, lies sprawled on a Bowflex exercise machine. The smell of copper and cordite hangs thick in the air. It appears that a single round was fired upwards through his chin, exiting through the back of his head and causing a spray of blood and tissue across the wall and ceiling. A 9mm lays in the floor at the Lance Corporal's right hand.

McGee carefully takes pictures and I sketch while DiNozzo talks to the widow. Gibbs converses with the MPs who were first on the scene. I have worked a number of suicides in my sixteen years in law enforcement, and they are never easy… particularly when a loved one is the one who discovers them. Moving behind the machine to take a measurement, I bend over to place the metal tape along the baseboard.

I stand and begin to write the measurement when I feel something hit my shoulder. Turning, I find no one even looking in my direction. When I start to kneel again, something else hits me, this time with a wet plop. Without looking, I try to shake it off, feeling a creeping urge to vomit at what I think it might be. When a third something hits me, I finally look up.

In the heat of mid-morning, the tissue on the ceiling is losing its fight with gravity.

Thoroughly disgusted, I take my sketch pad and vacate the room, needing the fresh air to keep from losing my breakfast. I take deep breaths in through my nose to try and stave off the roiling of my stomach. Looking up, I catch DiNozzo staring at me.

"Too many people back there," I say, "I'm overheated." DiNozzo shrugs me off with disinterest and goes back to talking to the wife, Diana. She has a single kleenex that she seems to be intent on twisting to death. I notice that it leaves little white pills on her lap.

Taking a breath, I walk back into the office and use my gloved finger to subtly flick the human tissue off my agency windbreaker. I get back to work, doing a rough sketch of the room. When I am finished twenty minutes later, I return to the sitting area where DiNozzo is questioning the wife.

"He was having an affair," she says in response to a question I'm not privy to.

"With who?"

"Some girl… I don't know her name. I told him that I knew, and that I wanted him to stop seeing her."

"Did he?"

"Yes, about six or seven months ago." McGee steps past me with the Walker's CPU tower. It's bagged and tagged, and he smiles an apologetic smile on his way out the door.

"Where's he going with that?" Diana asks suddenly.

"It's evidence, Diana," DiNozzo says gently, "If there's a reason for your husband's death, it could be a big clue."

"Do you think someone killed him?" she asks, wide-eyed and frightened.

"We don't know yet," he looks at me and back at Diana, "Do you have someone you can stay with?" She nods absentmindedly. McGee comes back in and heads for the office.

"Why don't you grab a couple of things, you can take Agent Hall with you, if you like." She shakes her head.

"I'd like to call my mother, if you don't mind… and get a drink of water." DiNozzo nods and watches her walk into the kitchen through the far archway, avoiding the door of the office.

"Where the hell is Dr. Mallard," I ask. DiNozzo shrugs.

"Who knows? If he let Palmer drive, they could be in Jersey by now." I can't help but smile. A few second of uncomfortable silence stretch into eternity between us. Diana returns and stands between us, looking defeated. She explains that she didn't get a hold of her mother, but that she'll try again later.

Silence returns for several long moments. Gibbs and the MPs join us in the front room. The two Marines exit with paper bags of evidence. As they pass Gibbs turns his gaze on us.

"Not a lot more we can do without Ducky," He says. On the couch, Diana starts to weep.

For long minutes, Gibbs watches how DiNozzo interacts with Diana. He is both comforting and questioning.

Looking up, suddenly, Agent DiNozzo sniffs and asks, "Man! Who beefed?" I look up, nose testing the air. Recognition of the smell hits me instantly.

_Natural gas!_

"Gas! Get out!" I shove Diana towards DiNozzo. The two of them plunge for the door, Gibbs right behind. I turn for the kitchen where the teakettle has just started to whistle its shrill note on a gas burner. Reaching for the stove, I smell natural gas thick in the air and realize that one knob is turned all the way up with no flame.

Backpedaling instead, I have time to fleeting think, _'oh, shit,'_ before I turn, kick out the back door and jump off the small deck. Hitting the ground, I roll and scrabble on hands and knees to get as far from the house as I can.

A deafening _boom _turns my world upside down. Early morning gives way to the surface of the sun for an instant, and I am blown through the rotting wooden privacy fence. For long moments, I lie in the sun, and think about what an idiotic thing I had just done. Blinking, I feel debris start raining down on me. Hot embers and pieces of plastic, some of them formerly appliances, fall none too gently from the sky. In the silence that follows, I roll to my hands and knees and vomit, heaving for several long minutes. Satisfied that I'm alive and in one piece, I spit a final time. 'NCIS was never like this,' I think.

Staggering to my feet, I clamp down on my rising sense of panic before I hear the sweetest sound I could have ever imagined.

"Cam!" Gibbs shouts from the front of the house, "Cameron!"

"Yeah, Boss!" I reply, throat raw and skin tight, I begin to pick my way through the partial crater that was Diana Walker's home, and our crime scene. Carefully skirting the ruins, I make my way to the street. DiNozzo and Diana are looking over the hood of the MCRT truck, which now sports about two hundred dings or so, filled with debris, including a heat-warped spoon buried handle first in the passenger door.

I feel like a cartoon character that's been through a fire, soot black and coughing little smoke rings. Sirens fill the air and people, mostly women, start coming out of houses up and down the street. Behind me, the house smokes and smolders, belching flames and thick, black smoke.


	7. Seven

Chapter Seven

Sitting heavily on the curb next to the MPs' jeep, I listen to Diana sob at the loss of her whole life. With the death of her husband just this morning, and now the destruction of her home, it's just too much. An ambulance screams around the corner first, screeching to a stop and disgorging a trio of paramedics. I watch with a surreal detachment as they check DiNozzo and Diana, Gibbs waves one off and points to me.

Wheezing, I let her walk me to the back of the ambulance and administer oxygen. A fire engine pulls in behind the ambulance and firemen race back and forth, unfurling hoses and connecting them to the fire hydrant. They begin to battle the blaze immediately, and Gibbs points out where our crime scene had been.

In the summer morning, I feel spray drift on the breeze, settling on everyone standing around. Gibbs comes and bends down to look me in the eye, making sure I'm going to make it. With a nod, I send him to check on everyone else. After five minutes, I hand the oxygen mask to the paramedic with a croaked 'thank you' and get back to work. Diana sits in the well of the side door, gulping oxygen greedily from the mask, blanket draped around her shoulders. She sobs uncontrollably and DiNozzo stands with her, making sure she's ok.

We exchange nods, not of friendship, but of respect forged in fire… literally.

I swipe at my face and my hand comes away covered in soot. McGee hands me a tissue and his bottle of water, and I smile gratefully. Pouring bottled water over the tissue, I gently swab my face, wincing at the fiery pinpricks of a thousand little cuts. By the time I'm finished with my face, the entire tissue is covered in black.

Looking up, I see the Medical Examiner's van coming up the block with a young man I'm guessing must be Palmer at the wheel. He and Ducky both wear shocked expressions at the sight of the ruined house. When the van comes to a stop, Ducky jumps out immediately. He checks with Gibbs, who points to me, his mouth moves but his words are lost in the roar of equipment and voices. Ducky makes a bee line to me, and draws me gently to the van.

Plunking me into a half sitting position in the open passenger door, he rummages in the back of the van for a moment before returning with a black bag. He takes my chin in his hands turning me first one way then the other.

"My goodness, Cameron… you are one lucky woman. It looks to just be superficial burns on your face and neck," He pulls out a wet-nap and wipes carefully across my cheek, "Yes, you have a bit of a burn, but the soot makes it look much worse than it is."

I look in the side mirror. A soot-smeared wild woman looks back at me. My hair stands on end where it escaped my hair tie, the ends are slightly fried.

"Well, Ducky, at least I don't have an excuse to put off getting my hair cut anymore," I gesture to the split and singed ends. He gives me a small smile. Ducky starts to clean me up and I stop him.

"Don't you have something more important to do?" I ask. He turns and looks over his shoulder at the blazing shell of a house before turning back to me.

"This _is_ more important." He sits me down again and cleans my various scrapes and abrasions.

"Why did you do it, if I may ask?" He says, packing up his medical bag.

"I don't know." I shrug, "I guess I just wanted to stop it if I could, and buy the others some time if I couldn't. It was a really stupid thing to do."

"Maybe," he looks down at me, "but it was incredibly brave."

Two hours later, the fire is out but the remains still smolder. Firefighters use their hooks to turn pieces over and wet down the remaining hotspots. There is a heavy stench of wet wood and charred plastic hanging over the entire scene. We have little to do but seek shelter from the sun on a neighbor's porch. She is friendly and brings us iced tea and coffee.

Watching impassively as the firemen move through what's left of her house, Diana drinks tea and wordlessly wipes tears away. A pair of firefighters turn over a chunk of collapsed roof and send up a shout. Two more join them, and they pull something into the back yard. Someone shouts for Dr. Mallard, and I realize they've found Darryl Walker's body in the rubble. We troop out to where the firemen are standing and take pictures before Ducky and Palmer load him up and take him to the van.

Six hours later, the hotspots have all died, and we are just concluding our investigation. I stretch as far as I can, grimacing when my burns chafe against my clothing. My skin feels tight, and I'm just ready for a shower.

When we finally return to headquarters, we each fill out our reports. I struggle with mine, my thoughts consumed by the what-ifs of the situation.

_What if I hadn't recognized the smell?_

_What if I had tried to be a bigger hero?_

_What if the blast had gone off fifteen seconds sooner?_

These thoughts chase themselves around in circles through my mind, causing me to take a while with my report.

By 1900, I'm finally done. I simply sit at my desk, staring off into space. Vance steps into the bullpen and greets everyone, before turning to me.

"Agent Hall, I'd like to speak with you in my office."

"Sir… can it possibly wait? I'd really like to shower first." He stares at me, not inviting insubordination.

"Hall, I want you my office, now." At this point, I'm kind of trapped so I nod. Tossing my pen on my desk in irritation, I stalk after him.

I take one last look downstairs on my way to the catwalk. All three men watch me follow Vance into his office. The last face I see is DiNozzo's. His eyes are hard, and it sends a shiver of fear down my spine.


	8. Eight

Chapter Eight

Motioning me to have a seat, Vance leans against his desk and stares.

"Yes, Director. What did you need?"

"I'd like to recommend you for a meritorious service award for today," He says, folding his arms. I stare at him for a moment, waiting for his words to sink in.

"I… I don't understand. I was just doing my job. If I hadn't done it, any other member of the team would've stepped up and done it. I don't deserve an award. It was a team effort."

"Not what I heard…"

"Then you heard wrong!" I snap unintentionally, "… Sir." He stares me calmly down and I feel about two inches tall.

"Don't forget, Agent Hall, that I have the authority to bounce your ass straight back to Everett any time I feel like it. And with your attitude, I could feel like it in the very near future."

"What?"

"If you want to continue to work out of this office, I need some information," He casually places a toothpick between his teeth.

"Sure, what do you want to know?" I attempt to cooperate. There are very few things I refuse to talk about.

"I want you to find out what happened between Agent DiNozzo and Mossad Liaison Officer Ziva David." I feel the significance of the name hit me. Ziva… I am her replacement, and she was DiNozzo's partner.

"Ask me something I'm qualified to answer." I feel my left eyebrow raise of its own accord.

"You'll be qualified before you know it. Make friends, share stories. Things will come to light."

"In case you haven't noticed, they don't seem to like me very much," I point out flatly. He pushes off the edge of his desk and goes to sit behind it.

"Make yourself more likeable." I stare at him in confusion and he makes no expression to tell me he understands.

Finally he says, "Let me put it this way Hall, make yourself more likeable, or pack your things and go back to the West Coast."


	9. Nine

Chapter Nine

The next morning, I'm still more than irritated by the scene in the director's office. I'm not sure what pisses me off more; the fact that he threatened to send me back to Washington State, or that he wanted me to be his mole. I try to shake it off as I enter the bullpen. Unfortunately, I'm not the first one here.

"What did our fearless director want?" DiNozzo asks as soon as I round the corner.

"Um, not much… I'm going to run and grab some coffee. Can I get anyone anything?" I raise my eyebrows slightly and tilt my head towards the elevator. It earns me a sideways glance… I have DiNozzo's attention.

"Yeah, I'll walk you down there," Turning, he glances at a slack jawed McGee, "You want something, Probie?"

Stuttering, McGee accepts. Confusion is written in the lines on his forehead. Heading to the elevator, we board the car. The next floor down we are joined by a blonde with steel grey eyes. She boards, but not before flashing DiNozzo a thousand watt smile. As soon as she turns her back to him, he cocks his head to one side and runs his eyes down the lines created by her tight skirt and three and a half inch heels.

At the first floor, she starts to get off, accidentally dropping a manila folder from the pile in her arm. DiNozzo swoops down to pick it up. Handing it back to her, they share a smile as she thanks him.

"Thank you…"

"Tony… Tony DiNozzo."

"It's nice to meet you, Tony," there's a seductive glitter in her eye as she says it. She steps off, glancing at DiNozzo about fifty times. As the doors are closing, she looks at me for the first time, and cocks her head to the side as if she's studying me. It gives me a chill.

When the doors close again, DiNozzo lets out a hiss of air.

"Ah, yes! I love girls from Long Island."

"Long Island? How do you figure?" I ask, leading the way as we get off at the lobby level.

"Please, did you _hear _those vowels?" I shrug.

"Never heard it before." At the door, I hold it open for DiNozzo.

"I grew up in New York. I had a nanny from Long Island." We start off down the street.

"I'm sure she was a nice lady." I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"No. She was a bitch," he says, squirming under his sling, "But she was smokin' hot, so I kind of let it slide."

"Wait? She was, 'smokin' hot.' You 'let it slide?' How old were you?" I ask, wondering what kind of kid thinks of his nanny in those terms.

"Twelve," he pauses for a moment to think, "No, that's a lie… I was thirteen."

"You had a nanny at the age of thirteen?"

"My dad didn't have a lot of time for me when I was growing up," DiNozzo slides on a pair of sunglasses. I follow suit.

"You're a rich kid."

"Was. I _was _a rich kid." His tone invites me to drop the subject and quickly, "What did the Director want?" He asks again.

"He wants to nominate me for a meritorious service award for yesterday," I say glumly.

"Why aren't you excited?" he asks, looking over at me.

"Because I got threatened to be sent back to Everett."

"What?" DiNozzo comes to a full stop, reaching out to stop me with his right hand.

"Please, let's keep walking," I shrug away from his hand. Between us, the pavement radiates the heat from the day back up to us, and I shed my blazer, "He wanted my help. He asked me to get some information for him." Resuming our trek, I find our pace more subdued. DiNozzo is giving me time to get it out.

"He asked me to make friends with you and find out what was going on between you and Officer David." DiNozzo's pace falters as he absorbs what I've said. Five or six emotions rage across his face from sadness to hostility to anger before settling on an expression I hadn't expected… guilt.

"What did you tell him?" He asks, resuming our pace.

"Nothing. I refused at first, told him it was obvious that it was going to take a long time to get in with the group. I knew I was replacing someone and might not be liked right away… and he threatened to bounce my ass straight back to Everett. His exact words were that I should make myself more likable, or pack my bags and go back to the West coast." We've reached the coffee shop, and I hold the door for him again.

The line is fairly short, and we are quiet for the first time since heading out. We each organize our own thoughts as we place our orders. DiNozzo orders three coffees and a Caf-Pow.

The barista puts the coffee in a carry tray and I hold the Caf-pow. This time DiNozzo opens the door for me.

Back on the street, we juggle our drinks. I try to balance the Caf-pow in the tray and take a drink of my own coffee. I'm sure we look ridiculous, sipping coffee in 95 degree weather, with me juggling two extra cups and the biggest cup of Caf-pow they sell.

"So… what _are _you gonna tell Vance?"

"I have no idea." I shrug as we wait for the crosswalk signal to turn green.

"Tell him the truth. Ziva was my partner for four years, and I disliked her when I first met her. I was really pissed when I found out she was staying… Four years later, she was my best friend. I trusted her above everyone, except Gibbs. I let her down, and someone else got caught in the middle."

"Trusted?" I ask.

"Hmm?"

"You used the past tense of trust," I trail off.

"I did."

"That implies you don't trust her anymore."

DiNozzo hangs his head, kicking at an imaginary pebble on the sidewalk, "I don't know if I do or not. Hell, I don't know who to trust anymore."

"Gibbs… Abby…Ducky… McGee, even if you do torture him." I say, and I see a small smile at the corner of DiNozzo's mouth.

"What, you're not going to ask me to trust you?"

"I just told you Director Vance wanted me to spy on you. _I_ wouldn't trust me right now." At the front door, DiNozzo, leans across me and opens the door. We ride the elevator in silence, but it isn't as uncomfortable as before. I set a coffee on Gibbs' desk and hand the fourth coffee to McGee. He smiles appreciatively.

I lean on the edge of my desk and sip my coffee until DiNozzo steps over to me. He's uncomfortably close, and I wonder what the hell he's doing. Holding out his good hand, I reach out and take it. We shake gently, subtly.

"Call me, Tony… Cam."

"Tony." Dropping hands, DiNozzo… Tony, goes back to his desk. McGee makes conversation to fill the silence by asking about the coffee run.

"You should've seen her, Probie… she was _wild. _She's got some mad coffee juggling skills," he pantomimes juggling with one good hand. I roll my eyes, sitting at my desk.

"Shut up, DiNozzo and drink your coffee," I say, unable to suppress a grin. The phone on Tony's desk rings.

Picking it up on the second ring, he announces, "Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo speaking…" the smile melts off his face, "Everything ok, Boss?" After a few seconds he hangs up.

"He wants the two of us in Abby's lab." McGee's head comes up, and we both share a look of confusion. Pushing back from his desk, Tony trots over to pick up Gibbs' coffee, and I grab Abby's Caf-pow. It's sounding like our case just took a turn for the worse. Sensing something bad has happened, McGee follows us. On the elevator, I ask what happened.

"He didn't say, he just said that he wanted the two of us down here ASAP." My stomach begins to churn as I think of all the things that could have gone wrong. Mishandled evidence, forensic alibi for the dirtbag … a thousand thoughts wing through my mind.

Nothing prepares me for what happens next.


	10. Ten

Chapter Ten

In the Sub-basement, we cross the hall into the lab and Gibbs fixes us with a frightening scowl. Tony offers Gibbs the coffee and he snatches it in a foul humor. I offer the goth her Caf-pow, and am startled when she fixes me with a cold glare.

"We brought you a..."With surprising speed, Abby slaps the drink out of my hand. The plastic shatters against the concrete floor, releasing a lake of sticky red liquid.

"What the hell, Abby?" I ask sharply.

"That's a good question, Cameron," she responds angrily. McGee starts for paper towels, but is frozen by a sharp look from the forensic scientist. I look from Abby to Gibbs. He's pissed off, and not at the case. The hard look in his eyes tells me I'm the target of his anger as well. Flicking a glance to Tony and McGee, I see that we're all about equally confused.

"The two of you obviously have something to say… so say it." I say with more of an edge than I intend.

"Play it, Abbs." With a last murderous glance, she turns to her computer and plays the file. In the window, a black ribbon has a green line through it, and the line jumps in time with something that sounds like footfalls. One person crosses a room, passing close to the recorder and moving away. The green waves note this.

"_I need some information." _Director Vance's voice comes from the speakers. I recognize the conversation I had just told Tony about. I look at him, and he doesn't look surprised. He knows to expect my voice in reply.

"_Yes, Director. What did you need?" _My voice responds.

"_Things… come to light."_ The sound pops and cracks for a few seconds, obliterating anything between "things" and "light". My head snaps up, I realize that I'm in a world of shit.

"_I… I don't understand_," the audio distorts again, _"just doing my job." _

"_Not what I heard…" _

"_They don't seem to like me very much."_ I cringe as I hear the way this conversation is being manipulated.

"_Make yourself more likeable."_

"_What?"_

"_Let me put it this way Hall_,_ I have the authority to recommend you for a meritorious service award any time I feel like it. I could feel like it in the very near future."_ I start thinking of all the ways that I'm going to fuck up whoever made this lovely little re-mix.

"_I deserve an award," _my voice says. I finally speak up. Abby pauses the audio.

"This isn't the way the conversation went. I'm being played…" Gibbs gives me a "zip it" gesture. Hitting play, the conversation picks up again.

"_Agent Hall, continue to work out of this office. You'll be qualified before you know it."_ I wonder what the hell is going on. The whole tape sounds like the Watergate tapes… no one uses an analogue recorder anymore. You can barely buy micro-cassettes. Whoever did this isn't very smart.

I gauge the reactions, Gibbs is impassive as ever… Abby's pissed… McGee is stunned… and Tony…

Tony looks blank.

"This isn't what got said," I try again, "Someone is cutting and pasting together what _they_ want you to hear. Why else would it sound like something out of Watergate?"

"You deny saying what's on this tape?" Gibbs asks.

"No. I deny saying it in the order it's been presented to you."

Pacing across the room, I look out the window and try to sort my thoughts out. Of all the situations I could have been prepared for, this had not been on the short list… or the long list… or the fucking master list. Someone is sabotaging my position within the team. It's stupid and pathetic, because I'll be bumped to another team soon if this Officer David wants her position back.

"Director Vance wanted me to spy," I turn around and face them, "on Agent DiNozzo."

"Tony," he corrects.

"Why trust me?" I ask, stepping a couple of steps closer.

"I don't… I just don't have a solid reason to believe you lied to me."

"Lied to you? What are you talking about?" McGee looks back and forth between Tony and I.

"When we went for coffee, McDork… she told me Vance was very interested in our working relationship with Ziva. Particularly my relationship with her."

"And?" Gibbs prompts.

"When I refused, he told me he had the power to send me back to Everett and that if my attitude didn't improve, he might feel like it 'in the near future'."

"Now _that _I believe." Gibbs says.

Abby makes a face, and Gibbs leans over to whisper in her ear. The look changes, but only a fraction. He kisses her on the cheek and starts for the door. Tony, McGee and I follow. At the elevator, I open my mouth to quip, "I've worked here less than forty-eight hours and already someone's out to get me." We board the car.

Hitting the sub-basement button, Gibbs turns to me, "You work for me, you get used to pissing people off."

"Sounds like a nice relaxing hobby." I say, as the doors slide closed.


	11. Eleven

Chapter Eleven

"What've you got, Duck?" Gibbs asks before he's two steps in the door. Ducky and his assistant both look up sharply.

"Goodness, Jethro, I didn't realize that you were bringing a whole party," He hands the assistant a tool, and crosses to the light box. Flipping several switches, the box lights up section by section. Various areas of the body appear, bones fluorescing white against the black film.

"Tell me, what do you see?" Ducky asks, stepping aside so we can all see the x-rays. He takes a moment to remove his face shield. We all take turns looking at the images. Gibbs squints carefully, but Tony is the first to speak.

"He's had several broken bones."

"Quite right, Anthony… see here," he indicates a clavicle, "and here," indicating two fingers, "He's also had his mandible and maxilla broken. I'd wager there was also a broken nose in this same incident. These are fairly new… I'd say between six and eight weeks old." Going back to the body, he motions us over.

When we're gathered around, Ducky retrieves a pair of forceps from a tray and uses them to gently pry Darryl Winters burned upper lip away from his teeth.

"Look at his left front tooth." We bend close, Tony and I nearly bashing cheeks. I indicate that he should go ahead. McGee looks up.

"It's a different color."

"Yes, why?" Ducky asks excitedly. McGee looks confused as hell for a second before some piece of info clicks in his head.

"It's fake." Nodding vigorously, Ducky grins.

"I would say it was inserted to replace a tooth lost when the mandible and maxilla were fractured."

"How would someone break those bones?" Gibbs asks, stepping around the table and examining the body more closely.

"In my medical opinion, I would say his head was introduced to a hard surface, quite forcefully."

"Like how?" Gibbs quirks a brow at Ducky from over Darryl's nose.

"Mr. Palmer, may I borrow you for a moment?" The assistant removes his own faceplate and steps towards Ducky.

"Of course, Dr. Mallard." Ducky turns him so he's facing away from the doctor. Before Ducky can reach for Palmer, Gibbs stops him.

"I think I get it, Duck," he crosses to where Ducky and Palmer are standing. Tony starts grinning and McGee looks apprehensive. I have a bad feeling.

I can tell Palmer and I are having the same thought when Gibbs asks, "May I?" The terrified look on the ME assistant's face makes me cringe.

With a small, but wicked, grin, Ducky steps back, "Absolutely."

Palmer either has the good grace to try to trust Gibbs, or he's frozen in terror. From the look on his face, I'd say it's the latter. Without warning, Gibbs strikes. Forcing Palmer to his knees, I see the poor boy's eyes widen in shock as his glasses tumble off his face. The glasses come to a stop at my feet, but I can't tear my eyes away from the demonstration to retrieve them.

In a flash, Ducky's assistant is face down on the floor, and Gibbs is straddling his back while maintaining a firm grasp on the back of his head. Shoving Palmer's face towards the floor, Gibbs elicits a squeak of alarm from the younger man. Bare inches from the ground, Gibbs pulls the assistant's head back to keep him from violently eating autopsy tile.

"Is that about right?" Gibbs gets up faster than I would have expected and looks up at Ducky.

"That would be my medical opinion, yes." Ducky can't keep a chuckle from his voice, "Come, come, Mr. Palmer!" He offers his assistant a hand up. I bend down and pick up his lost glasses. Palmer leans heavily against the autopsy table, looking very shaken. Gibbs claps him on the shoulder.

"Good job, Jimmy."

He, Tony, and McGee start for the door. Gibbs pauses and turns to catch my eye. I wave them on, hearing him start, "Tony, talk to the medical center at Quantico…" The rest of his words are lost as they board the elevator without me.

I turn back to the assistant, handing him his glasses. He fumbles for them, and I smile as he places them on his face.

"Hi… oh, hi!" he exclaims, getting a good look at me, "Things aren't always like this." He says.

"I wouldn't worry about it. Gibbs obviously likes you." I reassure him.

"You think?" He seems to doubt me.

"Absolutely. If he didn't like you, he'd have let you bounce your face off the floor," I smile.

"I suppose. By the way, I'm Jimmy Palmer… I'm Dr. Mallard's assistant."

"Jimmy, Cam Hall," I offer my hand, and he strips off a glove to shake it, "I'm Gibbs' temp." He nods.

"How long are you here?"

"Until Officer David decides to return," I shrug.

"Well, it's nice to meet you… I'm sorry you had to witness that," he indicates the demonstration.

"Are you ok?" I ask.

"What? Oh, yeah… I'm fine," he says.

"Does Gibbs do that often?" I ask.

"No, usually he prefers to use Agent DiNozzo for his example. I'm usually Dr. Mallard's guinea pig."

"I apologize for that, Jimmy," Ducky speaks from the other side of the table, "being the guinea pig has never bothered you in the past." I see a good-natured glint in his eye.

"That's because you don't scare me. Not really…" He looks to the door through which the rest of the team left. Looking back at us he shakes his head.

"… But Agent Gibbs scares the hell out of me."


	12. Twelve

Chapter Twelve

We call it quits for the evening, and the three of us go our separate ways. I make a stop in Abby's lab to pick up Traver. She points to her office, and I cross the lab to find her television tuned to Animal Planet. From under her desk, I hear the clink of metal, and I round her desk to find Traver curled up.

He looks up sharply as I peer under the desk. Grabbing his leash, I lead him back to the lab.

"He's been great all day. He just curled up under my desk and slept all afternoon." Abby informs me flatly, not bothering to look at me. Director Vance appears out of nowhere, and Abby and I both jump at the sound of his voice.

"Please don't tell me that's a _dog _I see in your forensics lab." She and I swing around and share a quick look before looking back at the Director.

"What dog?" we ask in unison, shrugging. Vance narrows his eyes at us. I start for the door.

"Thanks Abby, for getting around to that evidence I left you. I owe you in the future." She only nods as Traver and I beat a hasty retreat. I feel the Director's eyes on me as I get on the elevator.

On our way to the car, Traver has a million things to sniff and explore. In my own little world, I'm startled back to reality by the leash going taut. Turning, I find Traver peeing on the tire of a sports car.

"Bad dog… dammit, Traver!" I scold him, until I see DiNozzo heading our way at a good clip. Hurrying to my car, I get in and slam the door, almost dying of laughter when Tony crawls into the sports car which Traver and I had just passed. Reaching over, I pull the shepherd's nose to my own and scratch him behind the ears.

"Good boy." I start the car and we head home.

At the house, I light the candles I have tiered around the photo of my late partner and pour myself a glass of bourbon. Sitting in the darkness, I watch the flames dance far into the night. I stare at the picture on my mantle and my mind travels back six years.

_2003_

_We elect to stake out the park in Anacostia, right across the river from the Navy Yard. Jack and I share an unmarked car while Gibbs and Langer wait a hundred yards down the nearly empty parking area. We keep our eyes peeled for Douglas James' car. After putting Patty in protective custody, we use her to lure James to us._

_In the dark, we wait._

"_What do you think is gonna piss Bishop off more… that we lost the investigation to Gibbs, or that we're going along with it?" Jack asks._

"_Like I care," I snort, raising binoculars and looking back towards the entrance to the park, "You and I are pretty much screwed no matter what." I grunt. He chuckles._

"_Well, at least I got a free trip back East. It made Sharon pretty happy."_

"_Thanks for inviting me out to dinner with the two of you… jerk," I tease._

"_Sorry," he takes the binoculars and looks across the river at headquarters, "Sharon chewed me out for it too… said she hadn't seen you since she was still living in Long Beach."_

"_I'll catch up with her before we leave town," I chortle, "But I'll be the bigger man and let you tag along."_

_Jack drops the field glasses and puts one hand to his heart in mock offense, "You'll be the bigger man? That hurts, Cammy."_

"_Oh, shut up," I backhand him across the arm, "you know I still love you, right?"_

"_Admissions of love, and I'm not holding a beer? Cam," he tsks and holds out his hand, "Hand over your Man Card."_

_I start to deliver a witty retort, but am cut off by a mid-seventies sedan gliding around the curve heading for the meeting spot. The two of us perk up immediately. When the sedan comes to a stop and flashes its lights down the parking lot away from us, Jack and I slip out of our Stratus._

_The light is poor, broken only intermittently by dim, amber, street lamps. Jack motions me around to the left, and we sprint in opposite directions, using what vehicles we find for cover. Fifty yards away, a car door opens and 'thunks' shut heavily. I pop my head over the hood of a conversion van and motion to Jack._

_He nods in recognition and we crouch down and start creeping slowly forward. In the dark, we hear a muttered oath and see a flash of green from an open cell phone. A pause follows his swearing, presumably as he waits for the phone to ring._

"_Where the hell are you?" the rough male voice snaps. The agreement with Patty was that she would let the call go to voicemail._

"_You stupid bitch! What the fuck were you thinking, double-crossing Grant?" Uh-oh… Patty's going off script._

"_The cops are gonna be all over you, and I swear to God, if you roll on me, you aren't gonna have enough higher brain function to testify!" By now, I'm close enough to hear an explosive, angry, female response. Peeking around the rear quarter panel of an eighties vintage Grand Marquis, I catch a dim glimpse of a large man in the glow of his taillights._

_Jack is out of cover, but the man I believe to be Douglas James still has his back to us. We ease up on him, trying to take him by surprise. With an angry snarl, he slams the phone shut just as I stumble. James' head snaps around and he immediately launches himself in my direction. I am too close to aim carefully as he barrels at me._

_Faster than I would have thought possible, James delivers a crushing right hook to my mouth. Blinding white light causes me to stagger back. I feel my Sig tumble from my grip and I hear it skitter loudly across the uneven pavement._

"_Get down! On the ground, you son-of-a-bitch!" Jack shouts, and I hear the safety on Jack's service pistol click, "Cam, are you alright?"_

_When my vision returns a moment later, the lower half of my face throbs painfully in time with my racing heart. Leaning over, I sloppily spit out blood and a crown. Hands on my knees to steady myself, I lean over to inspect the too-red blood on the pale grey concrete. Spitting again, I turn an evil glare on our suspect, who has found a prime spot of pavement to spread eagle himself on._

_I walk the ten feet to where James is lying, Jack has his gun trained on James' back. Motioning Jack back, I pull my hand cuffs out of their pouch on my belt, and roughly help Mr. James to a standing position. Turning James around, I ever so gently bash his head off the door post of his own car, before slamming him onto the trunk and cuffing him. Kicking his legs apart, I am none too gentle when I frisk him either. I am disappointed to find no weapon. Something in my mouth continues to bleed, and I spit again._

"_Douglas James, you have the right to remain silent… anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You are entitled to Article 31 rights, should you chose to waive this right…"_

"_Shut up bitch, you don't know nothin'!" James shrieks, frothing at the mouth, and bucking under me. Headlights stab the darkness and a squeal of tires heralds the slamming of two doors._

"_Sounds like he waives his rights to me, does it to you, Agent Gibbs?" Jack asks, looking over the roof of the car. Glancing up, I watch Gibbs and Langer materialize out of the cone of headlights from their sedan._

_He grunts, "We'll be sure to hold you over for assault on a federal agent."_

_When I haul James to a standing position, Jack takes over, heading for our car and shoving James along ahead of him. James stops and turns to give me a cold, piercing stare. In the streetlights, I can see the beginnings of a healthy black eye and a large ovular goose egg on his forehead. While he stares, I touch my mouth and pull my fingers away slick and red with blood. Looking up, I see a wicked grin spread across his face._

"_Don't smile at her, asshole," Brent snaps, hand resting on the butt of his gun._

"_You gonna to shoot me?" James goads._

"_Give me one good reason, dirtbag." He toes James' line, mouth set in a grim slash. He grins in counterpoint._

"_I believe that, Agent Langer." Jack shoves him again and he starts walking. I follow ten steps behind._

_Out of the dark, a single gunshot shatters the still evening air. Everything slows as James falls to the ground heavily. Gibbs and Langer draw their pistols and sprint for the cover afforded by Douglas James' car. Adrenaline sings through my veins as I reach for my own gun, only to belatedly realize its twenty feet away, lying on the pavement where it fell when James sucker punched me._

_I start to backpedal as I watch Jack race towards the darkness of the tree line._

"_Jack, no!" I shout, unable to look away as I see a muzzle flash and a second round hits Jack square in the face. When the figure moves from the shadows, I see a flash of Patty Johnson, the former Mrs. Phillips._

_Gun in hand, she charges at me. I have no weapons but my fists and my rage. Hitting a defensive crouch, I realize what a foolish stand I've chosen to make when she levels her pistol at me. With a deafening roar, a hole appears in Patty's forehead, and her forward momentum carries her face first to the pavement._

_She twitches once and lies still. I feel something warm and wet on my face, and realize tears are coursing down my cheeks. Gibbs steps up beside me, gun still trained on Patty Johnson's still form. Running to where Jack lies, I drop to my knees and pull his head into my lap. His brown eyes are flung wide, but there is no spark of life. Sobbing, I hug him to me and beg God to let this be a nightmare._

_Pulling back, I see my slacks are heavily stained with Jack's blood and I shriek in rage, frustration and sorrow. Around me, the world fades, and I have no idea how long I simply cradle his lifeless body. _

_I am finally disturbed by Dr. Mallard coming to move the body. Six or seven vehicles sit around what is now a homicide scene. Lights pulse red and blue, while flashes go off, documenting everything. I see Dr. Mallard's mouth move, but I don't understand. Langer joins him, and I realize that they are here to take Jack to the morgue. The full weight of his death hits me suddenly, and I collapse in on myself._

_The good doctor eases Jack from my lap, and Brent gently pulls me to my feet. We stand in the glare of many sets of headlights. I look like Carrie at the prom, Blood stains my trousers and shirt as well as the pale grey pavement at my feet. Over Langer's shoulder, I see crime scene people taking pictures of Jack's body and I feel like throwing up. When Langer puts his arms around me, I feel his breath in my hair and hear his words of comfort only very dimly._

_My ears ring and ring until I can hear nothing but my own sobs._


	13. Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

The following day, the weather promises to be gorgeous with a high of ninety-five in early August. My vehicle of choice today is a no-brainer. I go out and take a quick look at the Ducati to make sure it's ready to go. Pulling on my leather jacket and helmet, I push the kickstand up and roll myself out the garage door and lock up before hitting the kick-start.

The engine roars to life, and a tree full of startled birds takes flight. I gun the engine and spit dirt and gravel everywhere. When I pull out on the highway, I open the bike up and pour on the speed.

Turning into the NCIS parking lot, I catch Tony walking towards the building with coffee for the team. I can't resist buzzing past him. As I come up the aisle towards him, I swerve slightly in his direction. He jumps out of the way and yells a stream of obscenities at me as I slide into a parking spot. Putting the kickstand down, I pull off my helmet and give him a little wave.

"Knew it had to be you! Who the hell else would be psycho enough to ride their motorcycle to work?"

"It's gonna be a nice day! If you want a ride home, I'll take you. Course, I only have one helmet… but I'd be careful with you, Tony!" He mutters something about, "Crazy bitch," and heads for the building. I carry my helmet to the coffee shop down the street and get a cup of coffee before heading back.

Coming into the bullpen, I toss my helmet on my desk and have a seat.

"Nice jacket," McGee compliments my black leather bomber jacket.

I smile and nod.

"Someone rode the Ducati today," Tony says sarcastically.

"And someone's jealous," I grin, "I even offered him a ride home, McGee… how nice was that?"

"Pretty nice?" McGee asks, shooting a look between the two of us. DiNozzo gnashes his teeth at me, and I grin. Gibbs sweeps in and we stop bantering and get down to business

"DiNozzo, I want you and Hall to get back down to Quantico and question the neighbors," he snaps. When we start to comply, "Not now… I want Cam in the conference room. Diana Winters is here to answer some more questions."

"Right," Tony responds.

"McGee, what the hell are you still sitting here for?" He glares as McGee's mouth starts to work as he stammers a response, "Get your ass down to Abby's, I want into that hard-drive yesterday."

"Sorry boss, she was back-logged with evidence from the house after it… exploded…" He trails off as Gibbs's glare deepens, "Right… hard-drive. Yesterday. Got it." He jumps up and heads for the elevator at a jog.

"While you're waiting, Tony, Call Darryl Winters' friends and family… former employers… build me a composite of what this guy was like." Tony starts pecking at the keyboard with one hand. I pause to write myself a note to call the MP office at Quantico. When I look up, Gibbs crooks a finger at me.

"What the hell are you waiting for, Hall? An engraved invitation?"

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the boat," Tony mutters.

"When I want your opinion, DiNozzo, I'll give it to you!" Gibbs snaps, belting DiNozzo across the back of the head on his way by. Tony cringes.

"Run for it!" he whispers.

I follow Gibbs into the conference room. Diana Winters stands at the window, gazing out at the churning Anacostia River. Gibbs motions me to a chair, and I sit.

Diana turns to look at us, tears streaking her face, "Have you caught the person who did this?"

"What makes you think he was murdered?" Gibbs asks.

"My Darryl… he was against suicide," she wipes her eyes, "He knew that if he took his own life, he'd never go to heaven. You have to find whoever did this to him."

"We're looking at everything," Gibbs says, "We need to know if there's anyone you can think of who might have wanted him dead?"

"Darryl wasn't popular, I'll say that much. But no one hated him… not enough to do something like this." She goes to the table, leaning heavily on it.

"I've got my best people on the job," Gibbs replies, sliding a cup of coffee across the table. Diana takes the offered drink. Wrapping her fingers around the Styrofoam mug, she holds it to her face and inhales the steam.

"Have you contacted your mother?" Gibbs asks. She nods, a fresh wave of tears spilling from her eyes.

"Mamma got on a plane yesterday. She's here with me."

"Was anyone aware of Darryl's affair?" Gibbs asks gently.

"Yes," she nods vigorously, "It was fairly common knowledge after I found out."

Gibbs and I exchange a look and he perches on the edge of the table at her left elbow. We wait for her to clarify. With a roll of her eyes, she continues, "When I confronted him about it, he tried to leave. We had it out in the front yard."

"Had it out?" Gibbs prompts.

"A lot of screaming, name calling… we traded a couple of hits." She sips her coffee, "Mostly on my end. I called him a dirty son-of-a-bitch and I slapped him." Diana looks to Gibbs.

"Did he return the blow?"

Again, she nods, "Yeah, he backhanded me, called me a frigid bitch, and then headed for the Jeep again. I caught him before he got there… someone called the MPs, otherwise, I might have killed him." Her voice breaks and the tears come more furiously. Gibbs stands and places a comforting hand on Diana's shoulder. She throws her arms around him and sobs.

Gibbs gives me a meaningful look over her shoulder, and I get up to leave. At the door, I pause for a moment and look back. Diana's head is buried in Gibb's shoulder, and her body wracks with frightening force. Looking away, I pull the door open and slip out.

In the squad room, I call the Provost Marshall's office at Quantico and request the Winters' case file.

"Oh, _them_… do you want me to fax it, or should I have it couriered?" Sergeant Miller asks. I'm not sure how to take this.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Let's just say that this office was no stranger to Lance Corporal Winters and his little woman," he says conspiratorially.

"How familiar were you with the deceased and his wife?"

"Seven case reports and ten to twelve calls of disturbing the peace over the last year," Miller says, and I hear pages flipping in the background, "The man had to be a _saint_ to put up with her."

I tell him we'll pick the files up and thank him for his time. Looking up, I ask Tony to do a little digging about Diana Winters.

He looks at me in confusion.

"MP down at Quantico says she was quite the Mike Tyson. I'd like to see what her record looks like… there's something about her that isn't sitting well with me."

Tony turns to his monitor so I can see it. A background search is already pending on Diana. For long moments, I sit restlessly at my desk.

"Why don't you go see what McGee and Abby have on the computer?" he asks, "You're making me nervous." Grateful for the reprieve from my churning thoughts, I stand and head for the stairs, hoping to burn off some of my nervous energy.


	14. Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

At the basement, I exit the stairwell and cross the hall to Abby's lab. From the doorway, I watch her and McGee interact. She is playful with him, and I find myself feeling jealous of him. Raising my hand, I knock on the doorjamb.

Abby's head snaps around, and her smile melts instantaneously.

"Can I help you?" she asks, turning back to the computer.

"May I come in?"

"It's a free country." She snaps.

"It's _your _lab." McGee's gaze roams back and forth between us.

She sighs heavily, gaze still glued to her screen, "Come in."

"Tony asked me to see if you had anything," I say crossing to stand between her and McGee.

"Well, I'm going through his e-mail right now," McGee says, "He's got a sub file buried in his personal account labeled 'Lara.'"

"And I back traced the IP address to a Dave Wheat with a Near Northeast address," Abby adds, taking a sip from a Caf-Pow cup. I absorb the information.

"Abby, can I talk to you for a minute?" I ask, feeling a need to clear the air. An uncomfortable silence descends on us, broken only by the slowed ticking of McGee's fingers on the keyboard as he eavesdrops.

"Talk away," she finally says. I sigh.

"Look, Abby… I didn't move to DC to replace anyone. I wanted to get back to the East Coast, and I wasn't looking to work for Gibbs. I owed him a favor too big to repay… I couldn't turn him down when he asked. While I intend to stay in Washington for a while, I don't intend to stay right here for very long. As soon as Officer David…"

"Ziva," Abby corrects icily.

"… As soon as _Ziva _decides she's ready to come back, I'm moving on to another team and another department. My assignment is temporary… and I don't want you to be mad at me the whole time." I finish. McGee's fingers have stilled at some point during my admission.

"You owed him because of Jack Winslow, didn't you?" She asks quietly. I feel tears prick my eyes.

"I _owe_ him because he saved my life." My voice breaks a little at the mention of Jack. Twin pigtails swivel, and Abby meets my gaze.

"Ok," she says with less irritation, "Well, that's all we have so far." Turning back to her computer, she begins a new search and I take it as my cue to leave. McGee tries not to make any sudden movements after our new-found truce. I turn to leave.

"Don't come back without Caf-Pow." Abby calls to me when I hit the door. I can't help but smile.

This time, I take the elevator.

In the squad room, Tony is on the phone. He hangs up as soon as I round the corner.

"You're gonna like this," he starts, "I talked to the police department in Paducah, Kentucky. Turns out, this isn't Diana Winters' first run in with the law. The guy I just talked to said she had a violent streak back in high school."

"I thought juvenile records were sealed." I say, coming to stand at his desk.

"Yeah, well, he remembered her pretty well… seems she tangled with his daughter once or twice."

"And?" I ask. DiNozzo beckons me around his desk. On his computer is Diana Winters' adult record.

"One report of domestic violence and one charge of battery, post-high school. She and her live-in boyfriend at the time had a couple of note-worthy fights where they beat the hell out of each other. The first time, he called the cops on her, and the second time a neighbor called it in… after she kicked his ass in the parking lot of their apartment complex." He hits a couple of keys, and several picture thumbnails pop up. The first several document Diana's injuries. One brown eye is nearly swollen shut and her blonde hair hangs limply around her face. The second batch shows a man who might have been good looking, but sports a gash with eight or nine stitches across his left cheek and a broken nose.

"Damn," I quip.

"Yeah, the second fight started because he answered a phone call from an ex-girlfriend. She was on probation for the second one. He walked away after the judge determined he was defending himself."

"Well, when we hit Quantico, we've got to stop and pick up the MP case files on the happy couple. Apparently the MPs were kind of a regular fixture at the Winters' house. There's quite a bit of documentation."

Tony starts to gather his things, "Guess let's get this the hell over with," he says.

"I'll drive." I offer. I can see that he wants to argue, but he realizes that he's going to lose.

"Fine, but I'm gonna bitch about your driving the whole way." He cracks.

"You sound like I should be surprised."


	15. Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Back on base at Quantico, I turn down Darryl and Diana's street. Pulling up at the house next door to the wreck of the Winters' home, I cut the engine and we get out. A woman in her late twenties lounges in a deck chair on the porch. Romance novel in hand, she watches us cross the front lawn.

DiNozzo and I stop at the steps and wait to be recognized.

"Can I help ya'll?" she asks with a suspicious timbre.

"Yes, ma'am. Are you Cheryl Johnson?" Tony replies, stepping to the top stair. She drains her cup before pouring another from a pitcher of what I assume is sweet tea.

"I might be. How can I help you?"

"Agents DiNozzo and Hall, NCIS." We flash our badges and she squints into the sunlight. Dragging herself out of her chair, she puts her book on the table and motions us over.

"What can I do for CSI today?" she asks.

"NCIS," Tony corrects, "We'd like to ask you a few questions about your neighbors." Mrs. Johnson flicks her gaze to what's left of the house next door.

"Ok." Sitting back down, she invites us to have a glass of tea. We accept, feeling the heat of the day very keenly. A gentle breeze from the overhead fan does little but stir the hot air. She retreats inside before returning with two glasses.

"Let me guess, this is about Darryl gettin' killed?" she makes the question sound like a statement.

"News travels fast," DiNozzo observes.

"Helps that the house blew up… that just got the word out quicker." She pours tea in each cup.

"What was your relationship with the Winters?" Tony asks, accepting a cup.

"I've been their neighbor for a little over a year."

"In that time, were you ever witness to some of their… domestic disputes?" I ask, pausing to search for the right words.

"Indeed, I was. If that's what you wanna call 'em. They ran the gamut from 'domestic disputes'," she hooks quotation marks with her fingers, "to all out brawls."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, they did their fair share of beatin' the hell out of one another. Darryl usually came out on the losin' end, too. But let me tell you, they made up just as good as they fought. I called in a few reports of disturbin' the peace on both sides of that fence."

"Disturbing the peace?" Tony asks for clarification.

"Yes, well… their usual brand of 'makin' up' was to let the whole neighborhood know what was goin' on in that bedroom. It was so good, _I _was needin' a smoke after they were done, if you catch my drift."

"So, you could hear every word of what was going on?" Tony again.

"No… it wasn't words so much as…" Cheryl Johnson lets loose with a couple of orgasmic moans. When she takes a breath to continue, Tony stops her.

"We get the picture, Mrs. Johnson."

"Please… call me Cheryl," she drawls sweetly.

"Cheryl… how were things between the Winters in the last six months or so?" he asks.

"Well, they started fightin' more than makin' up. They had a hellacious, knock down- drag out about six months ago. Darryl was slippin' it to someone else,"

"Did she know who?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah, she knew the girl Darryl was sleepin' with. She called up to DC and threatened to kill Lara if she didn't stop seein' him." Cheryl sips tea while the overhead fan ticks.

"Lara?" Tony prompts her.

"Oh, sorry… Lara Wheat. She was an assistant over at the medical center for a while, 'bout a year ago. I don't think she and her husband had been married very long at that point. She quit about six months ago when her husband got a job in DC. Lara's a sweet girl," Cheryl drawls in her Texas accent, "I think she and Darryl started to bond after one of he and Diana's big rows."

Cheryl lights a cheap cigarette, and inhales, "Don't get me wrong, I like Diana… but she's got one helluva temper."

"Do you think it's possible that she could've conspired to kill her husband?" I ask.

"No… I think she'd have kicked him around a little bit, but I don't think she's capable of killin' in cold blood. She tends to use her fists and words, rather than a gun."

"What makes you think Darryl Winters was shot?" Tony asks. Cheryl takes a slow drag from her Ligget.

"You've never been in the military, Agent DiNozzo," she states.

"Why's that?"

"In base housing, information spreads like wildfire. You can't help but… _overhear_ things." She smiles sardonically, flicking ash over the porch railing.

"Gossiping at the white picket fence?" I ask. Cheryl sucks in another lungful.

"Now, _you've _been in the military." A stream of smoke rides on her words.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Navy?" she guesses.

"Yes."

"Figured… you don't act like a marine." Another puff of smoke followed by a sip of tea.

"What can you tell us about the last fight between Darryl and Diana?" Tony brings the subject back around.

"The last _big _one?" Tony and I nod, "Well, that was about two months ago. I wasn't gonna call the cops… and then she jumped in the middle of him and took him down. When she started bouncin' his head off the driveway, I thought I'd better let someone know." Tony meets my gaze and I file that information away, "Darryl wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but I didn't want to see him planted in the garden."

"Garden?" Tony asks, "Do you mean you thought she might kill him?"

"I think she means she didn't want him to end up brain dead… you know, a vegetable?" I supply. Cheryl double taps her nose with her cigarette wielding fingers and points at me with a wink.

"I like you, Agent Hall," she smiles at me, "Yeah, Joe went out to break up the fight… he beat the MPs by maybe five minutes. As soon as Joe pulled her off Darryl, Darryl took off." She looks across her yard at the shell of the Winters' house.

"Took off?" Tony's pen is poised above his pad.

"Oh, yes… he went straight to medical. I'm surprised he made it, as bad as he was banged up. Guess he knew the way by memory," she says snidely, flicking her spent butt over the railing and towards the Winters' yard.

"Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Johnson," Tony says, standing. I follow suit.

"Thank _you_, Agent DiNozzo, and I'm not gonna say it again, sugar… call me Cheryl," her voice oozes charm. We excuse ourselves and make our way through the neighborhood and talk to several other neighbors.

Of all the neighborhood's residents, Cheryl is by far the most help. Everyone else tended to try to steer clear of Darryl and Diana. After we finish canvassing the neighborhood, we beat a hasty retreat back to the car and get in. Closing the door, Tony looks at me from the passenger seat.

"Look, on the way back, can you drop me at Georgetown?" he asks.

"Sure. Doctor's appointment?" I turn the engine over and watch Cheryl Johnson light another cigarette.

"Yeah," he replies, fidgeting with his sling. I pull away from the curb and we discuss what we've learned. Stopping at Sergeant Miller's office, an administrative assistant hands over a box of files. I settle them in the trunk before getting back in the car. Finally, I point the Charger towards first the main gate, and then DC.

Once we are on the highway, DiNozzo asks casually, "Who's Jack Winslow?"

I feel my knuckles tighten on the wheel and my foot stomps the accelerator in response.

"That doesn't sound good," he quips. He spends the next ten minutes alternating between phrasing his question in every language he can think of and speculating who the name belonged to.

When I can stand it no longer, I finally cry, "Oh, for the love of God, DiNozzo, it's none of your fucking business!"

The ride back passes in silence.

On the way my mind churns over DiNozzo's curiosity.

_2003_

_Two days after the incident in Anacostia, Jack's sister comes over to my place and finds me in a miserable state. I lie on the couch with four empty bottles; three of Ten High and one of Jack Daniels, in various positions scattered across my coffee table. A fifth bottle sits in their midst, two-thirds empty. She glances around at the devastation I have caused in a drunken rage. Most of my living room furniture is wrecked, turned upside down or broken. My hearing has returned, but only on my right side. The left side just rings and rings._

"_Jesus Christ, Cam." Sharon says as she sits beside me on the couch, "Get a hold of yourself!" I glance up at her, feeling like a pathetic piece of shit._

"_Go away, Sharon. I just want to be drunk." I say, pushing her away._

"_Well, you've certainly accomplished that." she pushes back._

"_Not well enough. I haven't chased the pain away yet." I bury my face in the couch cushion for a moment._

"_And you won't… not by crawling into a bottle of this shit." I glance up as she lifts a bottle of Ten High and sniffs it before making a face._

"_I did for a bit… Things were fucking rosy until then I passed out. When I woke up, it all came back."_

"_Come on, Cam. Jack wouldn't want you living in a bottle for the rest of your life. Get up, face the world." She carries off the empties and I hear them clank into the trash can. I pick up my glass to help, but don't quite make it off the cushions. "Come on, Cameron… for Jack?" she pleads as she stands over me. Suddenly I'm pissed, and I sit up slowly._

"_You don't get it do you?" I shout and throw my glass at the wall with enough force to shatter it, "It's my fault Jack's dead. If I'd stepped up sooner, I'd have blown the bitch away before she blew Jack's fucking head off! Instead, I let him die, and someone else ended up stepping up and blowing the woman away while I stood there like a goddamned bump on a log!" I shout._

"_Yeah, and that man saved your ass… so I suggest that you _find_ him, get down on your knees and _kiss his ass_ for keeping you alive!" She screams back. We sit in silence for several seconds._

"_Let's get you up and get you a shower. I've got to sober you up for the funeral."_

"_Fuck it, I'm not going." I lay back down. Sharon sits beside me again and grabs me by the arms. With a jerk, she pulls me to a sitting position so we are face to face._

"_You're going, so that when they hand Mom that flag, I don't fall apart. Now… suck it the fuck up, and let's get you cleaned up. What do you say?" she asks. _

_I promptly throw up all over her._

"_Perfect."_


	16. Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

I drum my fingers on my desk in irritation, alternating between reading Ducky's autopsy findings, sifting through reports from Quantico, and waiting for the phone to ring.

Tony swings around the corner, sporting a new, lighter weight sling and no cast. Going to his desk, he sits at his computer and begins clicking keys. Leaning forward, he scrutinizes the screen. When he pulls away he speaks, "Did anyone find out how Darryl Winters liked to shoot?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, was he right or left handed?" I skim through notes.

"I didn't ask. Why?" DiNozzo puts his computer screen up on the plasma. On the screen, a crime scene photo shows the spent 9 mil lying on the floor below Lance Corporal Winters' right hand.

"Looks like he shot himself with his right hand," I shake my head wondering where Tony's going with this. A second photo appears beside the first, showing Darryl Walker's face with an entry wound above his right eye.

"When I spoke with his CO, I found out that Darryl was right handed, but shot almost exclusively left-handed," he points to the entry wound, "which would be inconsistent with this wound." I stare blankly.

"I just spoke with Ducky, and he agreed that these injuries would have only occurred if he'd been sitting like this," Tony raises his right hand, making a pistol of his thumb and forefinger.

"Except that he was left handed, which should have made him sit like this," I imitate Tony, raising my left hand instead. For a beat, we stare each other down.

"Russian Roulette usually works better when you have real guns," Abby quips, startling both of us.

Tony drops his hand first, "Don't tell me, tell Lance Corporal Winters."

"Yeah, well… it usually works better when you use a revolver and not a semi-auto. So, get this, I only found gunshot residue on one of his hands… and not enough to lead me to believe that he fired that gun."

"How so?" I ask.

"Well, theoretically, let's say that Tony decided to shoot you and make it look like a suicide…"

"Go on," DiNozzo says, sounding highly interested, resting his chin on an upturned fist. Abby motions at him, "Well, do it." Tony gets up and crosses to me.

"First, I'd take her hand, like this," he takes my hand and makes it back into a 'gun' before holding it up to my head, "and then, I'd put the muzzle where I wanted it. Then 'BAM,' I'd pull the trigger." Abby nods, and DiNozzo and I look at our hands. His hands almost completely engulf mine as they stage the shot.

"Son of a bitch," I breathe, "Diana's right. There's no reason to believe her husband killed himself." I look up in time to catch Gibbs descending the stairs right before he barks, "I don't pay you two to play footsie, so what the hell's going on here?" Tony and I drop hands like we've been burned.

"But, wait, there's more," she says. Tony sits heavily on the edge of my desk as Gibbs stalks into the bullpen. Abby has everyone's full attention now, "I just tested her for gunshot residue. I got nothing, not even on her palms. So, she either never touched him… or she's gone Lady MacBeth."

"And you can't test her clothing for residue, because pretty much everything she owned went up in smoke yesterday," Tony points out.

"Right. But, I'm still sorting through evidence from the house… there wasn't a whole lot left. Between being blown to smithereens and going up in flames, most of what I have is completely useless as far as forensics goes. I'm still looking for the smoking gun, so to speak. And right now, I just don't have it." Gibbs scowls at her, "Which I _will_, I just don't _yet_."

When his scowl deepens, the Goth starts backing up slowly, "I'm gonna go back to my lab," Gibbs nods encouragingly, if slowly, "and find… something." She starts out of the bullpen area.

"Good job, Abbs." Gibbs says quietly, and when Abby turns I swear he almost smiles.

"So, what do you two have? Other than my foot up your asses if you were just jacking around?"

"Well, I'm going over police reports from Quantico now, Gibbs. So far, it seems to be pretty consistent with what everyone's been telling us."

"Did you get to the part where the wife beat the Lance Corporal to within an inch of his life?" Gibbs asks. I flick a look at Tony, who shrugs.

"Yeah, actually, the next door neighbor told us about how she jumped in the middle of him and started bouncing his face off the driveway… How did you already know?"

Gibbs levels an icy stare at me, "What the hell do you think I've been doing, Hall? Fluffing the pillows of the grieving widow?"

"No, but…" I see Tony's eyes widen in shock.

"But what?" Gibbs cuts me off.

"We got the name of the woman Winters was having the affair with," I finish meekly, "Neighbor knew who she was, so it's hard for me to believe Diana didn't. You know how word-of-mouth works on base."

Gibbs stares at me, waiting.

"Lara Wheat, Boss," Tony supplies, "McGee and Abby ran a backtrace on some of Darryl's e-mails… she and her husband live in Near Northeast."

Gibbs rolls his eyes.

"I'm running a search on her now," Tony says, fingers moving to his keyboard.

McGee enters the bullpen and goes straight to Gibbs, handing him a manila folder.

"Found this boss, you're going to like it. Looks like Lara Wheat took out a restraining order on Diana Winters. This came straight from Metro PD."

Flipping open the folder, Gibbs grunts in response. McGee picks up a remote and puts images of paperwork up on the plasma.

"The order went into effect about three months ago, and since then there's been a couple of calls pertaining to it. Both instances happened outside a free clinic on Northwest 15th."

"Which would be where Lara Wheat currently works," Tony says, "In a free clinic catering mostly to Latin American immigrants."

"Keep on it, I want everything you can find on her… and her husband."

Gibbs beckons to me and heads for the conference rooms. I push away from my desk and follow wordlessly. Entering the room quietly, Gibbs goes straight to the table and sits. Diana glances at him sharply. A dark haired woman sits silently beside her, fidgeting with a styrofoam cup.

"You lied to me, Diana." Gibbs says, quietly. The other woman snaps a look to Diana. She leans in and mutters something.

"Shut up, Mom," Diana snaps before turning to Gibbs, "I didn't lie to you."

"You told me that you didn't know who Darryl was seeing. I find it hard to believe that your neighbors knew who he was sleeping with, but you were clueless."

"What?" She asks, momentarily thrown.

"You told me Darryl was seeing 'some girl'. A couple of your neighbors confirmed that your husband was seeing one of the nurses from sick bay. Lara Wheat." The name causes a dark cloud to cross Diana's features. Gibbs zeros in on this.

"How can I trust you if I've already caught you in a lie?"

"Look, she and I have aired our differences."

"Yeah, I'd say you have." Gibbs slides a file jacket across the table to her. Diana's mother cranes her neck to see the too-white pages.

"Agent McGee found this restraining order filed against you by Lara through the Metropolitan Police Department. Seems several people witnessed your 'airing of differences' at the clinic about three months ago." Diana sniffs incredulously.

"So what? We just talked."

"Diana, what the hell is he talkin' about?" Her mom asks, voice jumping nearly an octave.

"Shut up, Mom… if you can't just sit there, get the hell out!" Diana's voice rings in the small room. For an instant everything is still. Her mother gives her a dark look before angrily swiping her coffee cup and standing.

"I'm just here to help. You'd do well to remember that," She drawls, furrowing her brow and looks down at her daughter. Diana sits miserably alone as her mother pushes past her and leaves the room. Gibbs jerks his head that I should go catch her, and I take off.

"Do you always 'air your differences' at that volume?" I hear Gibbs ask as I slip out of the conference room. In the hallway, Diana's mother paces in agitation.

"Ma'am?" I start, unsure what to call her. She snaps straight up and faces me.

"Yes?"

"I'm Cameron Hall, one of the investigating agents on your son-in-law's case. Can I get you anything? Somewhere more comfortable to wait, maybe?"

She sighs, "Well, I suppose that would be fine. Damn head-strong fool, she won't even listen to what her momma has to say."

I lead her back to the squad room and pull McGee's desk chair over to my desk, allowing her to sit.

"Mrs…" I start.

"Please, call me Sadie. It makes me feel old when people call me Mrs. Thomas. I always point out that Mrs. Thomas is my mother-in-law." She attempts a wan smile.

"What happened?" I ask her.

"You tell me. Diana refuses to talk about what happened. She called me yesterday afternoon and told me that Darryl had been killed. I hopped on the first plane I could in Nashville."

"Where were you yesterday morning… between nine and ten-thirty?" Sadie takes a sip from her cup.

"Home. I had gone for a walk and bought the mornin' paper. Why?" I take a moment to process this.

"Diana said she called you, but you didn't pick up. About fifteen minutes after she made that call, the house blew up from a gas leak."

"What?" The color drains from her face.

"While we were processing the scene, one of our agents recognized the smell of natural gas. There was a tea kettle on the stove, and a second burner was going with no flame…"

"That girl can be so god-damned scatterbrained it's not even funny." Sadie spits, "She damn near burnt our house in Paducha to the ground tryin' to make macaroni and cheese. Diana and anythin' but the microwave is a recipe for disaster."

I nod and try to get her back to the question, "So you were home between nine and ten thirty?"

"Yes. But, my caller ID told me I'd missed a call from her about eight forty-five… but, I guess that'd be about a quarter to ten her time." Mentally, I kick myself for forgetting the time zone change.

"Did you try to call her back?"

"Yes'm. I called the house and was worried when the little voice told me the number was disconnected."

"Gas leak that size will do it," I mumble under my breath.

"Pardon?" She locks a shrewd gaze on me.

"Nothing," I brush off her question.

"May I ask you a question?" She fixes me with a pair of muddy brown eyes.

"I'll answer it if I can."

"Where are you from? You don't talk or act like the other agents."

"I came to Washington from the Seattle area."

"Born and raised?" She asks, quirking a brow.

"No, ma'am. Born and raised in the Mid-West."

"Where?"

"Oklahoma. Why?" I feel my head cock in question.

"Some of the words you say, I can hear a bit of an accent. It's the way you say words with Os and As. You've still got a bit of a… twang, I guess."

"I'd have thought it'd be gone by now. It gets worse when I spend time at home." She smiles just a little.

"Ain't no shame in bein' yourself," she finishes off her coffee, "What do you think happened to Darryl?"

I am momentarily caught off guard by her shift in subject, "We're still looking into it."

She nods. I look up and see Gibbs coming my way at a quick clip. He makes eye contact with me, "What the hell are you sitting there for? Go get the Wheats and bring them in."

"On it, Boss!" I say, standing, "Who's going with me?" He fixes me with a glare.

"I am," he growls.

I nod my acknowledgement at Sadie. Tony enters the squad room from the opposite direction and speaks to Sadie. Gibbs is already on his way to the elevator. I jump up, grabbing my badge and Sig before following him.

"It was lovely visitin' with you, Agent Hall," Sadie says, tossing her cup.

"And you, Sadie," I say, handing her a card, "You know what to do."

"Move it, Hall!" Gibbs snaps from the elevator. I jog over and jump aboard as the doors slide shut.


	17. Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Gibbs pulls up outside of the free clinic, and we get out. I send a quick text to McGee, _See if you can figure out where that sound file Abby received yesterday was sent from. I want to know who I've pissed off._

Before we hit the front desk, my phone buzzes and I open it to examine McGee's reply, _Abby started a back trace as soon as you left. It's bouncing like crazy through servers all over Asia and the Pacific Rim._

Gibbs steps up to the counter, and I jam my phone into my pocket quickly.

"We'd like to speak to Lara Wheat."

"May I ask what this is regarding?" The receptionist's eyes narrow in suspicion. Gibbs gives me a sideways glance and we flash our badges.

"What the hell is NCIS?" she asks, reaching up to tug a blonde curl behind her ear.

"Stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We just need a moment of her time." Gibbs says, gaze sliding to two nurses standing at the back counter. One of the nurses looks up and smiles at Gibbs as she gives him a sizzling once-over. He ignores her.

The receptionist stands, smoothing her fuchsia scrubs. As she runs her hands down the top, I see a very clear baby bump and realize that we've been speaking to Lara.

"Can we find someplace else to talk?" Gibbs allows her to lead the way.

Lara lets us into a conference room that hasn't seen an update since Clinton's first administration. She busies herself fixing a cup of tea before offering us coffee. Gibbs pours two cups for us before motioning her to sit. When her tea is finished, he brings it to her.

"Is this about Darryl?" she asks.

"What makes you say that?" Gibbs asks in return.

"That stupid bitch turned him in to legal for having an affair, didn't she?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Darryl's dead." Gibbs can be a real bastard when he wants to be.

"Dead?" She turns the word over, testing its weight, "How?"

"Shot. We're investigating it as a possible suicide."

"Suicide? No… Darryl was opposed to suicide. He saw it as the coward's way out."

"Should we be looking at it as a murder?" I ask.

"You're damn right you should! Diana's crazy. She threatened to kill both of us. About two or three months ago, she came in here screaming that she was going to kill me, and I took her very seriously. I went and had a restraining order filed with District Four."

"We're looking into that," Gibbs says, "But right now, we need to know where you and your husband were yesterday before oh-eight-hundred." She pauses.

"I was here, getting ready to open the clinic. Sandy and Dr. Mathison can vouch for that. Dave should have been sitting in traffic on his way to the office." Her eyes momentarily widen, "You don't think he could've done it, do you?"

"We're not ruling anything out at this point." I say, glancing to Gibbs. He nods almost imperceptibly.

"Would you be willing to come down to the Yard and give us a statement about the whole situation, starting with the affair?"

Lara slumps a bit in her seat, "Yes… but I have to find someone to cover the desk while I'm gone. Give me a half hour, and I'll be on my way." We thank her for her time and go to find the other nurse and the doctor she mentioned.

Lara identifies Sandy as being the nurse who had given Gibbs that scorching once-over.

"Oh, yes… Lara's almost always here before eight. She's eight months pregnant and has more energy that most women in her condition," Sandy says.

"What time did you get in yesterday?" Gibbs asks as Sandy makes a couple of 'come hither' expressions at him.

"About ten 'til eight. I'd love to tell you all about it over dinner."

Gibbs smiles, "Tell me more about it, and we'll see." He motions me to go find the doctor. As I walk away, I try to give myself a mental shake. Gibbs' flirting kind of gives me the willies. I don't really want to know what he does off the clock. I ask a second nurse where I can find the doctor, and he directs me to an exam room with an open door.

"Are you my two o'clock?" A man of about forty-five asks me from over a manila folder.

"No," I flash my badge, "I need to ask you a few questions about Lara Wheat."

He leans back on his stool and studies me, "Shoot." I feel my eyes narrow at his choice of words.

"What time did you come in yesterday?" His face flames red in response.

"I didn't leave the night before."

"So you were here when Lara came in?"

"Yes. She was here a little after seven-thirty," he pauses and leans closer to me, "My wife and I are having some problems… I've been staying here for the last few nights. Lara woke me up when she came in." I nod, taking in this information.

"Tell me about the encounter between her and Diana Winters."

Mathison sucks in a breath between his teeth, "That was ugly. I heard the commotion all the way back in x-ray," he indicates a room about fifty feet down a long, narrow hall, "When I came out to see what the hell was going on, I saw the other woman, Diana Winters, did you say?" I nod.

"She was pissed. Her face was red, and she kept screaming about paternity testing and how she was going to kill Lara. I came to the front and broke up the argument. She refused to leave and I called the police. Before they came, Mrs. Winters disappeared. No one has heard from her since."

I offer him my card with the instructions to call me if he remembers anything else. Stepping back into the main reception area, I pass Gibbs. He and the nurse are still talking as Lara sits on the phone.

In the waiting room, there are a handful of patients. A couple look ill, several women are in various stages of pregnancy, and one man looks stoned out of his mind. Catching Gibbs' eye, I motion to the door. He nods, and I step outside.

The neighborhood is less than appealing. Graffiti adorns almost every stationary surface, and I wonder for a moment if my decision to come outside is ill-advised. My skin crawls, little pinpricks raise my skin in goose bumps. I feel like I'm being watched. Subtly, I touch my hand to the waistband of my pants, comforting myself with the weight of my 229.

Two minutes later, Gibbs comes through the doors, pausing to speak to me.

"What?" he asks, catching my expression of discomfort.

"I feel like we're being watched." Gibbs slides closer to me, and looks down the block over my shoulder. His gaze flicks back and forth, and I realize that I'm doing the same, covering the street behind him. I'm looking for anything out of place.

"I don't see anything," I say softly. He places a hand on my forearm, keeping me close for an instant.

"Someone's watching." He says under his breath and his gaze meets mine, "They're good, too."

He drops my arm, pulls away, and heads straight for the car.

Once we are seated with the ignition turned over, Gibbs looks at me.

"Doctor confirmed Lara's story," I say. Gibbs nods and puts the car in gear. I decline to ask about Sandy, opting instead for turning the radio on. As we pull away from the clinic, I think I catch a flash of light on glass. Looking again, I see nothing. In spite of the heat in the car, I feel my skin pucker.


	18. Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Back at headquarters, I excuse myself to take some time in the gym. I think better when I exercise… it frees up my mind to make connections. In the locker room, I change into a pair of sweats, cut off to be shorts, and an NCIS t-shirt. **

**Getting on the elliptical, I start out slow, arms swinging to the gentle rhythm I've started. Right now, Diana is my prime suspect… she had motive and opportunity. Hell, she even had the means. The incident with the stove could have been an accident… or it could have been done intentionally. All the crime shows on TV now make it more difficult to catch the bad guys by teaching them ways to beat the forensics system.**

**I think about Diana, turning her over in my mind, looking at every possible angle. She strikes me as being like still water. The surface belies the depth. She comes off as scatterbrained and shallow… I suspect it's an image she's cultivated carefully. Diana acts on mediocrity, but there's a sharpness to her gaze that makes me think she catches more than she lets on. **

**The agent from the elevator yesterday gets on the treadmill next to me. Glancing over, she gives me a smirk.**

"**You're the woman from the elevator yesterday." She observes, easing into a jog.**

"**And you are?" I ask carefully.**

"**Amanda Keller. I'm a Special Services agent. I float between the first and fourth floor. You're the newest member of Team Gibbs, huh?"**

"**Happy news travels fast." I ratchet up the resistance on the machine. Something about Agent Keller unnerves me and it makes me pissy. She increases her speed to match. It's probably that she's tied to the Office of Special Services… they're like the CIA of our fair agency.**

"**Indeed it does. What's it like?" She gushes.**

"**Just like the Northwest." She nods and when I offer nothing else, she plugs in a pair of headphones. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.**

**I start turning over the recording Abby received. As far as I know, I haven't pissed anyone off specifically since I got here. 'Team Gibbs,' as Keller put it, isn't always a favorite of other agency teams. In fact, they're both famous and infamous. They get the job done, but no one really wants to question Gibbs' methods.**

**I think about how the audio was manipulated… it makes me look like I'm Director Vance's spy. And if there's anything I don't need, it's more tension between me and the team. I'm already not particularly trustworthy to McGee, Tony, or Abby. Although we've aired our differences, I'm pretty sure they don't trust me. Gibbs has no reason to not trust me… not after what happened in Anacostia six years ago.**

**I catch Keller watching me through the mirrors on the wall. I get off the elliptical and move on to a military press machine, turning profile to the mirrors to avoid her sideways looks. Moving through a few reps, I add a little weight and keep going. My mind churns through two sets of facts. Facts for the Darryl Winters case, which is looking more and more like murder the more I think about it and the recording, on which I have little.**

**Moving to a bike, I ride two miles and call it good. The exercise has cleared my mind, and I hit the showers to clean up. Coming out, I find Keller lounging against the locker where my stuff is. I motion her out of the way, and rummage for my shirt and jeans. She stares at me.**

"**Look, can I help you with something?" She just smiles. In my pants pocket, I feel my phone buzz it's reminder of a missed message. Digging it out of the pocket, I stand in my underwear and check my message. For an instant, I stare at the message in shock. Pulling on my poker face, I turn to Keller.**

"**Seriously, do you have something you need, or are you just here to admire my physique?" She now slouches against the next locker over. I drop my phone with the faceplate open so Keller can read it.**

"**You set me up, you bitch!" I grab her by the t-shirt and slam her into the locker room wall. A flash of surprise crosses her face before she buries it.**

**Keller's cold grey eyes measure me for a beat, "Did I?" Her soft Long Island accent pisses me off even more. She's so deceptively calm. I'm about to change that.**

_**That e-mail originated in this building. IP address shows that it came from the Special Services office on One. **_**Keller's gaze snaps to the screen of my phone.**

"**Why?" She stares through me and I bounce her off the wall again, "Why?"**

"**The puppy has to learn its place, Cameron."**

"**What the hell is your problem?"**

"**I want my rightful place."**

"**What?"**

"**Vance hand-picked me to replace David."**

"**Until she comes back?"**

"**She's not coming back. Not if I join the team. There are some changes that need to be made to that team, starting with you and ending with Agent DiNozzo. Director Vance **_**needs **_**me."**

"**For what purpose?" I'm riled beyond reason.**

"**I was supposed to join the team to get Gibbs to play the politics Vance sets forth."**

"**With a solve rate like theirs… who cares if they play Vance's ridiculous Capitol Hill crap?"**

"**For shame, Cammy… it's like you never learned your office politics," I let up for an instant in surprise at her use of Jack's nickname for me, "A week with Gibbs has broken nearly ten years of scrupulous politics. How?"**

"**It hasn't. And don't you dare presume to call me Cammy!" I roar.**

"**Liar," She calmly thrusts her chin at me, "You've always followed the man in power… yet you deliberately told Vance to shove it." The door from the gym opens and a petite woman with dark hair takes one look at us and lets the door close.**

**Turning my attention back to Keller, I say, "That's not what I said." I shove her forcefully into the wall once more for good measure and turn her loose.**

"**Really, because that's what I heard. It may not be what you said verbatim, but it was definitely the subtext."**

"**There was no subtext. I told Director Vance the truth. I'm part of their team by association only, the agents under Gibbs see me as the enemy." Keller shakes her head with an obnoxious laugh. Slipping her hand into a locker, she withdraws a white envelope.**

"**Look at it from the outside in," she tosses a stack of photographs on the bench beside me. Picking them up, I begin to go through them. There are several from the Winters murder scene two days prior, a handful of covert squad room shots, and two from the parking lot when I had buzzed DiNozzo on the Ducati.**

"**What the hell is this?" I angrily wave the pictures at her.**

"**You aren't looking at them. Take your time," she has moved to lounge against the lockers opposite mine. I flip through the photos again. Going backwards, I can clearly see Tony's mouth forming the word "crazy" as I'm disappearing from the frame. He doesn't look angry… if anything, he looks amused. At least, more amused I've seen him at almost any other time since I got here.**

**In the photos from the Winters scene, there is a shot of him looking at me as I passed him and Diana in the ambulance. Stark black and white reveals more than I would have thought possible. We are not friendly, but it is clear that we both carry a measure of respect for the other. A second photo from that scene is Gibbs and I standing close, he is checking on me while I press an oxygen mask to my face. He inclines his head to me, a look of concern on his face. Another shows Ducky gently cleaning me up, worry written in his features.**

**As I thumb through the pictures faster and faster, I'm getting the images in flashes, Winters scenes, squad room scenes, parking lot scenes with Tony, sidewalk scenes with Gibbs' hand on my arm, at this point one jumps from the stack and lands at my feet. Even from a standing position, I know exactly what's going on. Whoever captured this picture was within hearing distance, and the poor quality suggests a hastily snapped shot. I'm sitting on the edge of my desk and Tony has his good arm out shaking my hand. That part is partially blocked by his sling.**

**Someone took that picture the moment after he had told me to call him Tony… and had reciprocated by calling me Cam.**

**I snap.**

**Dropping the photos in my hand, adrenaline hammers through me as I jump the short bench and slam Keller into the lockers so hard the metal buckles in a couple of places. Keller's dazed, but still strong. She shoves me back, and I trip over my own feet, trying not to go down over the bench. When I regain my feet, Keller looks at me and gives me the "bring it on" gesture.**

**I'm already throwing punches when I hear the door open. My fists connect twice with Keller's solar plexus right above the bellybutton, and I follow up with a fist to her eye, sending her crumpling to the floor. The next thing I know, someone grabs me by the wrist and snaps me around to face them. I start to take a swing, and find myself going ass over teakettle into the floor.**

**I look up at a very pissed off Gibbs.**

**The adrenaline dies in my veins, and I'm left lying in the floor shaking. A female agent I'm not familiar with brings Keller around and helps her to the shower area as Keller wipes blood from her nose. Both look at me like I'm an animal. Gibbs pulls me to a sitting position, and I hear Tony at the door.**

"**Everything ok?" He shouts.**

**Gibbs rolls his eyes, "We're coming out," he starts to haul me up, and I pull away. Scrambling to pick up the pictures, I want to prove that the creepy feeling of being watched was real. With photos in hand, I pull myself up out of the floor. As soon as I have my feet, Gibbs throws my clothes at me and hauls me out the door. Tony follows us down the hall in shock.**

**On the elevator, Gibbs chews my ass while Tony thumbs through the pictures.**

"**I trusted you! Brought you to my team because I wanted someone I didn't feel the need to keep an eye on. The second I turn my back, you're fighting in the locker-room like some god-damned teenaged punk."**

"**What was I supposed to do, Gibbs? That bitch set me up." I almost shout, tugging on my pants.**

"**You were supposed to think!"**

"**She's setting DiNozzo up, too," I say, jamming my arms through the sleeves of my blouse and nodding at the pictures, "Someone's gunning for Tony's job." Gibbs jerks all but one picture out of Tony's hand. I button my blouse, wanting to both die from mortification and finish kicking the shit out of Keller.**

**Thumbing through them angrily, I see Gibbs slowing, expression icing over. I look to Tony, and he holds up the picture of us shaking hands. **

"**Yeah," I sigh, "That's the one I lost my shit over." I yank one shoe on and then the other.**

**Gibbs holds up a shot from outside the clinic where he has his hand on my arm and we're standing close. From this angle, it almost looks as if we're pressed against each other. I stare at the door and try to fight the urge to scream.**


	19. Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Lara still hasn't shown up, and I can see the strain it's putting on the team. Tony calls the clinic. He speaks into the phone for a moment before hanging up.**

"**That was the clinic. They said Lara left almost an hour ago. She was supposedly meeting her husband to come in and talk to us."**

"**Give them a half hour… if we don't see them, put out a BOLO."**

"**You think she's gonna jackrabbit?" Tony asks as McGee bounds into the bullpen.**

"**You're never going to believe this!" McGee says excitedly.**

"**Diana Winters is looking more and more guilty?" Tony asks, causing McGee to lose a bit of his bounce for a second, "Well, that was part of it… Abby and I located a search in the history of their browser. Yesterday, someone looked up the Wheat's new address northeast of Union Station and then tried to delete it." Gibbs, Tony and I share a quick look.**

"**I've got a bad feeling about this," Tony says, looking around.**

"**Get on that address!" Gibbs orders.**

"**On it, Boss." Tony and I head for the garage, checking out a sedan. The tech hands Tony the keys and we fight over them awkwardly with his bum arm.**

"**I'm the senior field agent, I get to drive." He tugs the keys towards himself.**

"**Let me drive today and I'll let you drive the Porsche when we get done with this case." I offer, tugging the keys back. He pauses for an instant, and I jerk the keys out of his hand.**

"_**Senior **_**field agent means I make the decisions." He snatches the keys from me and I scoff, "Hey, if I wanted to prove a point, I'd have asked Gibbs to drive," he says with a one shouldered shrug. I curl my lip in irritation and reach for the passenger door. Tony slides behind the wheel and I pull on the handle, only to find the door is locked.**

**Knocking on the glass, I point at the handle when he looks up. He just shrugs at me. I hit the boiling point in a nanosecond. Looking around, I see no other agents in the immediate area. I rap on the glass again, waiting for him to see that I'm not jacking around.**

"**What the hell are you waiting for, get in." I hear his voice through the glass. The lock whirs and I try the handle again only to find the lock still engaged.**

"**I will tear this car door off if you don't let me in right now." I say, jerking on the handle again to emphasize my point.**

**I see his lips form the words, "I'd like to see that."**

"**Tony!" I slap the glass.**

"**Oh, I'm sorry … I must have accidentally hit the 'lock' button," He says sarcastically, unlocking the door. Yanking the door open, I fall into the passenger seat and slam the door.**

"**I swear to, God, DiNozzo…" I leave my threat unfinished as he starts the engine.**

"**If I had a nickel for every time I heard that," he says with a grin.**

"**I'm sure you'd be a very **_**wealthy**_** boy, Tony."**

**Fifteen minutes later, I tell Tony that our exit is the next one.**

"**No it's not… everyone knows that If you take Massachusetts, its way faster than Independence. I mean, come on… are you blind?" He flies past our exit. Thirty seconds later traffic slows to a crawl.**

"**What the hell?" he asks, blaring the horn a few times, "What's with traffic?" A man in the car in front of us flips us the finger.**

"**I tried to tell you, DiNozzo. The off-ramp at H is closed. It's been under construction for the last two weeks, traffic has been a nightmare through here ever since." He smacks his head onto the wheel.**

"**Well, why the hell didn't you tell me that?" He bites out at me.**

"**It was a little hard to make a case for myself when you went hurtling past our exit at eighty." I retort.**

"**I wasn't driving eighty, and you should learn to talk faster, get on the ball, or anticipate," he says, ticking points off on his fingers, "You work for Gibbs now. You'll get better at it."**

"**Then I guess we're going to have to take Capitol and backtrack since 195 is closed. Of course at this time of day, getting off onto Capitol Street is going to be a **_**bitch**_**." He moves his lips silently, no doubt saying ugly things about me.**

**I look up at the ceiling of the immobile Charger, trying to tamp down the urge to strangle him before finally saying what's on my mind.**

"**I'm going to kill you, Tony… that's all there is to it."**

"**Hah! I have a list when it comes to you, Cam." Tony replies.**


	20. Twenty

Chapter Twenty

When we finally pull up to the house, we approach and knock on the door. A very harried Lara answers.

"I'm sorry… Dave got caught in traffic at H Street. He just got here and we're on our way." Words continue to spill forth until Tony cuts her off.

"That's fine, Mrs. Wheat," he says, "We have reason to believe that you and your husband might be targets for Darryl's killer. Starting now, there will be two NCIS agents outside your house at all times until this is resolved. We're also calling the Metro PD to step up patrols around your house."

"Jesus, this is starting to sound serious," A man steps up behind Lara. She turns, placing a hand on her swollen belly.

"Dave, this is Agent Hall," she indicates me, "She and Agent Gibbs stopped by the clinic this morning."

"This is Agent DiNozzo," I gesture to Tony.

"Please, call me Tony," he says extending his good hand to the Wheats.

"How much danger do you think we're in?" Dave asks.

"Enough that it warrants having a team of two agents monitoring the house 24/7," Tony looks back and forth between them, "why don't you two go ahead and meet Agent Gibbs down at the Navy Yard. If no one shows up in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours, we'll discuss further NCIS involvement."

"Did you leave a note for my brother?" Lara asks.

"I did that ten minutes ago. I don't see why, though. It's not like he's going to be home before we get back," Dave says before adding under his breath, "If he comes back at all."

"Still, I just don't want him to worry."

We escort the Wheats to their vehicle and see them off, before heading across the street to our own car.

Back at the Yard with the Wheats in tow, I turn Lara over to McGee and Gibbs. Tony and I escort Dave to a separate interrogation room.

"Interrogation," Dave reads the sign on the door, "Should I be worried?" his nervous chuckle helps the joke die on his lips.

"I don't know. Should you?" Tony asks. Dave pulls a chair up to the table and looks around the room. For long moments he stares at his reflection in the mirror.

"Look, I lost my temper when Lara told me she'd been sleeping with that guy from Quantico. It's why I took the job in DC."

"Define, 'losing your temper'." DiNozzo flicks imaginary dust from the table top before taking a seat.

"I yelled," Dave Wheat sighs. Tony gives him an incredulous look, "I yelled a lot, okay. Called her a couple of names."

"How did she respond?" I ask.

"She cried… about six weeks later she told me for sure she was pregnant," He hangs his head, "I wanted to believe her when she said the child was mine."

"Did you believe her?" Tony folds his hands on the table top.

"Not at the time."

"And now?"

"It doesn't matter. We survived it, Agent DiNozzo… as a couple. Even after the lies and the truth surfacing, I feel like after that, we can weather anything." Tony's gaze clouds over for an instant, but he squelches it down before Dave looks up.

"How have things been since you found out?" Tony asks sharply.

Dave's head comes up, and he looks Tony in the eye, "We had a rocky start in DC, Lara missed her friends and the medical center. But once she started working for Mathison, things got better. I think she was bored being at home… she made friends with some of the other nurses, and she genuinely enjoys helping the people from that neighborhood. We put the affair behind us and moved on."

"Would you submit to a paternity test?" I ask, rounding the table to stand at Tony's left shoulder.

"I don't have to. Aiden is ours." He shrugs the question off.

"You don't want to know for certain?"

"Agent Hall… I know this may be hard for you to comprehend, but I don't care who fathered him. I will raise my son and be his father because Darryl is a worthless piece of shit who wouldn't have stuck around. He's so cowed by his own wife, I couldn't handle the thought of my boy having to live with that in his life. That child is mine." Tony cocks his head to the side, meeting my gaze.

I start for the door.

"Agent Hall?" Dave speaks softly, moistening his lips quickly, "I'm a smart man. I know you're going to check me out. Of everything I've told you, I wish I could save you a long and boring task. The worst trouble I've ever been in with the authorities is a couple of traffic tickets."

I snap off a quick text to Abby. Tony continues to question Dave while I slip over to Observation and wait for a reply. They do a complicated verbal dance, Tony leading, trying to get Dave ruffled into revealing more. Dave is nervous, but not scared.

An instant message pops up on the computer.

"Agent Hall," the tech, Gary, motions me over, "You have a message from Abby Scuito."

_Dave Wheat has a couple of traffic violations, one for speeding and one for a miscellaneous moving violation. The state of Michigan has a juvenile jacket on him, but it's sealed._

I pull back, "Thanks," I say to the tech. Moving for the door, I hear keys tick until I pull the door quietly shut. Squaring my shoulders, I knock at the door of Interrogation 3. Tony acknowledges me.

Opening the door, Dave looks up at me. I can see sweat beading at his hairline.

"Do you mind if I ask a couple of questions?" I look at Tony. He raises his good hand in a gesture of indifferent welcome. Coming in, I stand at Dave's shoulder.

"You wanna try again with that little story about not having been in trouble? Because right now, I'm feeling like you might have lied to me," I drop each word very deliberately. Dave looks confused for an instant, "You have a sealed juvenile record. By law, I can't use it in our investigation," Tony snaps a look at me like I'm crazy, "but if you want to tell me about it…"

Recognition lights up Dave's features and is just as quickly squelched, "I beat the hell out of a kid my junior year of high school." Dave cuts me off and cranes his head to look me in the eye. For an instant I'm thrown.

"Why?"

"He called my little sister a whore. There may have been some truth to it… but no man should let a slur against his baby sister go unpunished. It was my job to stand up for her." He looks to Tony, "Do you have a sister, Agent DiNozzo?"

"No."

"Well, I'm sure you've got a woman you would stand up for, in the same situation." Tony gets up quickly.

"Cam, can you take over? I've got something I've got to do." He says tersely, crossing to the door and yanking it open. The door slams hard behind him, causing Dave and I to jump. We exchange a glance.

"Did I say something wrong?" Dave's eyes dart between me to the door.

"I think we're done," I skirt the question, "I'll take you to the conference room and get you a cup of coffee."

He loosens his tie a little, "Can we skip the coffee? A coke'll do. It's hotter than hell in here."


	21. Twenty One

Chapter Twenty-one

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of paperwork, computer searches, and coffee. McGee and Gibbs follow the Wheats and take the first watch. At about four, McGee calls to remind Tony and me to relieve them at five. Wearily, we pack our things and I call Sharon.

"Sharon, can you come out and feed Traver? I'm in the middle of a case."

"Do you need me to take him until you're done?" I pause and consider the case.

Sighing, I reply, "Yeah, if you could. I'm going to be at the office during the day and on protection detail until about midnight or one If it's an imposition, I'll call the kennel and have him boarded until I'm done."

"No, Cammy… we'll keep him. I'm trying to talk Steve into the bib "B" word. I figure if I hit him up about getting a puppy first, that'll pave the way into the baby conversation. Maybe Traver will help convince him about the puppy." I can hear her smile down the line.

"He's got a brand new bag of food in the closet off the kitchen, if you want to take that. He's really a good dog, pretty low maintence…"

"Something he _obviously _didn't get from you." I roll my eyes.

"Thanks, Shar," I say sarcastically and smile before adding sincerely, "I owe you one."

When I hang up, I'm glad that I won't be home tonight. Facing that house without Traver would be so quiet and lonely, I don't think I could sleep without hearing him getting up and turning in circles to get comfortable before flopping down. Looking up at Tony, he motions toward the elevator, and I grab my stuff.

In the car, we cruise in silence, and I really notice for the first time today that Tony's sling is gone, replaced by a simple brace. We pass the time in relative silence, Tony not seeming to be in the mood for music.

Pulling up to the curb outside the Wheat's house Tony flashes the parking lights and down the block, a car starts. Five seconds later, a Charger goes cruising sedately past with Gibbs at the wheel.

Neither of them looks at us, but Tony's gaze watches them in the rearview mirror.

Within the car, there's a familiar smell… one part government issue vehicle, one part stale sweat, and two parts high performance air-conditioning.

We play rock, paper, scissors to see who takes the first watch. I win, and Tony offers to play the best two out of three. I decline, and slouch down in the seat. Closing my eyes, I'm asleep in no time.

It seems like minutes before I hear, "Cam."

Jerking awake, I slur, "What?"

"You're up." He says, slouching down in the driver's seat.

"I bet you're wishing you'd decided to ride bitch for this trip," I say, training my eyes on the house.

"I don't ride bitch for anyone."

"You did for Gibbs the other day." I say, flicking a glance at him, deciding not to remind him about our foray to Quantico.

"So?"

"So you'll ride bitch for Gibbs but no one else?"

"I don't trust McGee, and I didn't have a fantastic time the first time I rode with Ziva… made me never want to do it again."

"I heard it took a week to get the smell of vomit out of the truck." I smirk.

"First of all, I'm gonna kill McGee, and second I felt like crap all day before that. I think I got bad tacos at…"

"Whoa! Don't wanna know." He curls his lip at me and leans his head back against the headrest.

"Who's Jack?" He asks suddenly. I fish for the binoculars and train them on the yard, cutting him off. I pull them away momentarily as they chafe my still tender skin.

"Someone I don't talk about very often," I start to leave it at that, but my curiosity gets the better of me, "How the hell did you know about that?"

"For someone who sleeps so quietly, you do have a tendency to talk while you're out."

"I talk in my sleep, and you still think I sleep quietly? Who are you comparing me to?" I ask.

"Ziva."

"Oh… so you and she…?" I trail off. His head comes off the headrest.

"No." he says firmly.

"Then how…?"

"We were undercover as a married couple. I don't think I slept a wink. Jesus… she snores like a drunken sailor with emphysema. I tried to wake her up once."

"Just once?" I cock an eyebrow.

"She pulled her fucking Sig on me. I decided I could live longer without sleep than I could if she shot me." I chuckle as I picture the look on Tony's face as he stared down the barrel of a gun in the middle of the night.

"So… you never answered. Who's Jack? Is he a boyfriend?"

"He was my best friend." I correct, "I got him killed six years ago."

"February 2003?" He's quick.

"Yeah. Jack was my partner, we worked a joint case with Gibbs and Langer. We were following a murderer we thought might have ties to terrorism. A man in charge of the ARES program wrecked his car in Arizona. We assumed he was on his way to San Diego from Los Alamos.

"He appeared to have been tortured, we assumed for info on the second generation system. Turns out his ex-wife wanted revenge for him leaving her and taking his two and a half million dollar insurance policy with him," I laugh quietly remembering the case, "Gibbs offered a shared investigation, and then turned around and stole the evidence behind my back." Tony laughs too.

"Sounds about right," he quips.

"Jack and I came to DC and pulled in the widow and the ex. When we started finding evidence that the ex-wife had hired a friend of a friend to have the Commander killed, we set up a sting. The ex-wife crashed it and shot the hired gun…" I trail off.

"No shit?"

"The bastard punched me, and I dropped my gun… so when Patty came out of nowhere, I had no weapon to defend Jack. She shot him in the face from less than ten feet away. And I stood there like a bump on a log. As soon as she pointed the gun at me, I felt more than heard a gun go off about six feet from my right ear."

"Gibbs?" Tony guesses. I turn back to face Tony.

"Yeah," I nod.

"Does he know that he's the cause of your hearing loss?"

"There were a lot of shots fired that day. I don't think one did more damage to my hearing than any other." I admit, raking my hand through my hair.

"How did you handle it?" He asks.

"Not well, I'll tell you that. I was a mess for the better part of two days, drunk for almost forty-eight hours straight. Jack's sister came over to my place, and I was so drunk that I had left my door standing wide open. Nobody wanted anything I had by that point though. I went on a self-loathing rampage and destroyed most of the furniture in my place. By the time Sharon got me cleaned up and sobered up, it was almost time for the funeral. I was hung over and miserable; Sharon had to dress me because I couldn't focus long enough to dress myself.

"At the funeral, I stood on the line with the rest of our team, and as soon as the ceremony was finished I fell out and took off. I made it as far as the nearest tree before I puked up everything I had eaten in hopes of sobering up. I must have knelt there for several minutes… because the next thing I was aware of, someone was offering me a handkerchief to clean up with. When I got some control over myself, I stood up and faced the man. I was very surprised to come face to face with Gibbs…" I trail off.

"Are you in love with him, Hall?" Tony teases gently. I smile.

I laugh softly, "Oh, I don't think so, Tony. The truth is… Gibbs was my hero. He was actually my savior. If he hadn't taken out the ex-wife, I'd have been on a slab at the Yard, just like Jack." I pause and stare up at the ceiling, "He saved my life… and I was… _ungrateful_. I tried to set it right, but I think I just ended up embarrassing him."

He nods as he processes the information I have just given him, "Well, I _was _a little concerned when you showed up like you did."

"Why's that?" I ask.

"Your hair."

"Oh, my God, Tony… the man solves _how _many cases a year and you're gonna bust his chops for his poor choice in women?" Tony and I laugh loudly, trailing off.

We are quiet for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally I break the silence.

"So… Got any dirt on McGee?"

"All I will say is… watch what you say around him, you may end up in his next novel."

"_Next_ novel implies that there was a first one. What did he write?" I ask.

"You ever heard of the Deep Six novels?" Tony asks.

"You're shitting me! I love those books. I have both of them on my bookshelf right now." Tony rolls his eyes.

"Oh, my God! Not you."

"Holy shit… It totally makes _so _much sense! LJ Tibbs, Tommy, Lisa, McGregor… and Amy. Did he and Abby have a thing?"

"A long time ago. But Abby's a little like me, she has a lot of exes… and she collects the weird ones."

"Heard you collect the crazy ones."

"Yeah… and the bitchy ones, too."

"Thank God, _I'm _not one of your exes, Tony."

He snickers, "Yeah, you can say that again."


	22. Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty-two

I keep my eye on the Wheat's until after dark. With the coming of twilight, the earth is rapidly giving up the heat of the day, letting a chill creep into the car. Beside me, DiNozzo either sleeps or has died… I'm really not sure which. When he suddenly stirs, I jump a mile.

"What the hell is your problem?" he says, voice slurred with sleep.

"Sorry, you scared the bejeezus out of me. I thought maybe you had died over there."

"You'd like that," He smacks his lips obnoxiously and swipes the binoculars. I rub my hands along my arms to warm up a bit. Tony notices this.

"Hey if you want to, we could always…"

"If you finish that sentence with 'get naked and share body heat,' I will deck you." He scrunches back down in the drivers seat, pouting.

"I was just trying to help. What's wrong with being a good neighbor and sharing body heat?"

"I wouldn't share a cup of _sugar_ with you, Tony… let alone get naked and let you touch me," I say, snatching the binoculars back. Watching for a few more minutes, I see Lara step out and retrieve the mail. Her shadow crosses the front window twice before there is a sudden violent twitch in the curtains. Sitting up straighter, I focus on the material, which is still swaying gently.

"Did you see that?" I ask Tony. He reaches back and takes the binoculars. Surveying the yard and house, he pulls them down.

"Check it out," he says, and we get out of the car. Crossing the street and heading for the house at a jog, we exchange glances.

"I'm gonna feel like an idiot if it's nothing," Tony grouses.

"Man, I've got the hebejeebies," I say, slowing and suppressing a shudder, "I feel like we're being watched."

Tony glances quickly around the neighborhood, "Probably one of the neighbors. Some busybody little old lady." I try to laugh it off, but the feeling surrounds me, making me jumpy.

We step up on the porch and Tony reaches for the door. Knocking twice, he steps back. From inside there's a whimper and a crash. The two of us share a look, drawing our guns. DiNozzo tries the door.

"Federal agents!" I shout, and he takes a kick at the door. After three, the door hasn't budged. I motion him back and simply shoot the handle off the door. Two quick shots leave the handle in ruins, and I give it one solid kick. The door flies open and I drop the muzzle of my Sig.

Charging past me, Tony clears the main room. I pass him on the left and follow a short hallway with closed doors near the back and an archway into an airy kitchen immediately on the right. Hearing a noise in the kitchen, I bring up my weapon.

"NCIS! Identify yourself!" I shout from the archway.

"Help!" a wispy voice answers from below the edge of the counter. Across the room, I see Tony come in, gun drawn. In a split second, his eyes change, and he holsters his gun.

"Call 911! We need an ambulance immediately." I yank out my cell with one hand and thumb the safety with the other. When the dispatcher has me on the line I identify myself as a federal agent and give the address. The operator asks the nature of the injury, and I round the edge of the center island, taking in Lara Winters and her injuries for the first time.

"Jesus Christ," I say, staring in horror at the puddle of blood surrounding Lara's still body. DiNozzo has ripped off his jacket and has it pressed against her abdomen. Blood cascades from a crater in the side of her skull, and I'm amazed she can even speak, "She's bleeding from a hole in her skull and from her abdomen…"

"Someone sliced her open." Tony supplies before murmuring comforting words to Lara. The grimace on her face tells me she's still hanging on.

Relaying the info, I finish, "She's going to need a trauma I center, and she's fading fast."

"Paramedics will be there soon, agent." Running to the front yard, I see the flashing blue and red lights and hear the siren screaming up the block. The ambulance pulls to a stop and two men bail out the back. I lead them through the house in the late evening sunlight.

She's barely clinging to life as they load her onto a gurney and hurry back to the waiting rig. Tony tosses the car keys to me and hops in the back with them. I watch the ambulance roar off into the night. Across the street and next door, I see curtains twitching, neighbors watching the scene unfold.

With a heavy sigh, I pick up my phone and call McGee. He promises to bring Gibbs and come as quickly as they can. Hanging up, I stare off into the blood red sunset. At the car, I retrieve my crime scene kit from the trunk and sling it over my shoulder. Looking up, to the east I can make out the moon and two or three stars above the brilliant white of the Capitol dome.

Pulling my crime scene tape out, I roll it across the open door and secure it. Entering the house, I follow the doorway, around to the right this time. Inside the front door is a scattering of envelopes on the floor, all addressed to Dave and Lara Wheat. I follow a blood trail to the kitchen. It starts in the front room right by the mail, just a few drops at first… then a solid trail in the dining room… then a wide, ragged swath of blood to the kitchen. It looks as if Lara dragged herself from the dining room to the kitchen.

Moving from room to room, I clear each one, only to make a heart-wrenching discovery in the first bedroom. Formerly an office, it's in the end stages of being converted into a nursery. Soft blue walls glow under the light of a single incandescent bulb. For a long moment I take in the décor, my heart hitching in my chest. Seeing nothing amiss, I shake it off and move on. In the master suite, I snap on a pair of latex gloves and catch the light switch. The sudden onslaught of light in the darkened room blinds me.

And then utter horror.

Slumped across the foot of the bed is Lara's husband, Dave. I should say, I assume its Dave. DNA will be the only definitive match now. His face is gone, a mass of soft purple flesh and raw, red meat. Here and there a shard of bone projects sharply, looking wet and almost yellow under the light. Backing up, I drop my scene kit, intending to turn and run before I vomit and ruin the crime scene. I catch snap shot glimpses of blood on the walls in arcs and sprays.

Opening my phone, I call McGee again as I walk calmly towards the front door. He answers on the second ring, and I can hear highway noise in the background. With a one handed swipe, I knock the tape down and step out onto the porch.

"Call Ducky," I say before leaning over the porch railing and emptying the contents of my stomach into the rosebushes. After a good five minutes, I have myself convinced that I'm done. I turn and sit on the steps, putting my head between my knees.

I look up for a moment. Down the street, nearly every house has an American flag. Against the backdrop of the brightly lit Capitol dome and rapidly falling night, the whole scene seems surreal. Outside, the whole neighborhood reeks of Americana.

Inside it looks like Judgment Day.


	23. Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty-three

When Gibbs and McGee pull up an eternity later, they stop and make sure I'm alright. Nodding, I spit into the grass for the hundredth time. McGee looks at me and asks, "Is it that bad?" He slams the bay doors of the truck and approaches across the rapidly dewing lawn.

"It's bad enough." My cell rings and I answer it. On the other end, Tony briefs me on Lara's condition.

"She's in surgery right now… they'll know more after they get her opened up. Right now, it's not looking real good. Her brain is hemorrhaging and her spleen is shot. The paramedics said it looked like this was a fetal kidnapping."

"Fetal kidnapping?" I ask, "As in, someone sliced her open and stole her baby?"

"Yeah," he sighs, "It's some sick shit, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Look, I found a second vic. He was in the bedroom… someone bludgeoned him beyond recognition. I'm betting it's the husband, Dave."

"Bludgeoned? With what?"

"Don't know yet. It looks like Carrie's fucking prom in there though." He makes a sound of dismay. Across the street I see an older couple staring openly at me. I turn my back to them, reminding myself to speak more softly.

"Cameron, you want us to wait, or are you gonna help us process this scene tonight?" Gibbs shouts from the front room.

"On your six, Boss!" I shout back without thinking. DiNozzo's rubbing off on me. With murmured goodbyes, he and I disconnect, and I follow McGee and Gibbs into the house.

"Call some local LEOs to help control the perimeter." He strides off towards the kitchen. McGee and I look at each other.

"Nose goes!" I exclaim, drawing my index finger towards my nose with a snap. McGee smiles at me from behind his hand.

"Dammit!" I hiss, having lost the draw.

"You should know better," he says, dropping his hand but still smirking that shit-eating grin, "I work with Tony." I pull out my phone and make the call.

Starting with numbers, I set them out as McGee follows me with the camera. Gibbs disappears, around the corner I indicate, in search of the body. Fifteen seconds later, he steps back around the corner and stands there with his eyes closed for a second. I don't hold it against him that he needs a moment… it's the most horrific thing I've ever seen. In my sixteen years of police service, ten as an MA in the Navy and almost seven with NCIS, I have seen people do a lot of horrible things to each other.

Crooking a finger at us, Gibbs takes us back to the master bedroom.

"This scene can wait. Let's have our second victim ready for Ducky ASAP. I want to know what the hell happened here, and I want to know _yesterday_," he snaps, motioning us around the corner and into the room.

Even prepared for it, the scene is still overwhelming. Blood sprays and secondary spatter from a weapon criss-cross in arcs across the walls. At the foot of the bed, still in the same position, the male victim catches McGee's eye. I see him swallow thickly, trying not to puke. For about five or six seconds he struggles before shoving the camera into my hands and bolting. Gibbs watches him go.

"Well, let's get to it," is all he says. I set out more numbers and start photographing every square inch of the room. Gibbs takes secondary photos and steps back into the bathroom doorway to get a wide angle on the bloody wall. His footsteps retreat into the bathroom, and he calls my name.

"Look at this," he motions to the sink, "What do you make of it?" I look. Brown streaks and dots cover the inside of the basin, and a bar of soap, stained brown, sits on the edge of the sink.

"The killer washed their hands." He nods, pulling a blood residue kit from his bag. Swabbing the sink with the cotton-tipped wand, he holds it up and watches the wand turn bright pink, indicating human blood.

"I think you're right. Bag and tag the soap, swab the sink, and dust for prints." He starts to leave, and I call him back.

"Tony said this looks like a fetal kidnapping…" I don't even finish before he walks out of the bathroom and out of the suite. Following, I try to figure out what the hell is going on.

"Boss?" I ask, McGee looks up from a kneeling position on the narrow porch, "Boss!" Gibbs ignores me, trotting down the stairs. McGee looks up at me, his expression halfway between baffled and ill.

"Gibbs!" I shout across the lawn, "Where are you going?"

Coming back two or three steps, he says, "I'm gonna find that bitch! Stay with McGee, and tell DiNozzo to get his ass back to NCIS as soon as he can." He jumps behind the wheel of the Charger and slams the door. The car roars to life and as soon as the lights come on, he's squealing away from the curb.

I watch until the tail lights disappear around the corner. By this time, neighbors have wandered to the edge of the Wheat's property to see what's going on. Turning, I swear under my breath and start back up the steps. McGee looks up at me in question.

"Get back to work McGee." I pick up the crime scene tape and re-hang it across the door.


	24. Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty-four

Seven hours later, McGee and I are dragging ass through the forensics bay of NCIS headquarters. Stepping up to the retinal scanner, McGee calls the elevator.

"Want to go for coffee?" I ask him. McGee slumps against the elevator wall. He doesn't respond.

"Tim?" I ask, and he meets my gaze. Nodding tiredly, he pushes away from the wall as the doors open. We step down the hall together. He sticks his head into Abby's lab and she meets us.

He hands her a transfer of evidence form and she signs. Placing an arm around him, Abby offers him a comforting hug. We exchange a few words before McGee and I board the elevator again.

We don't speak until we're on the street.

"That was awful. Have you heard from Tony again?" I shake my head.

I shake my head, "I'm glad you were the one to stay," I offer.

"Why?" he slows his steps to match my exhausted gait.

"Because you didn't heckle me… I appreciate it. It was a tough scene."

"The day scenes like that stop getting to me is the day I quit being a field agent," he vows softly. I nod. Soft bars of Shawn Colvin's _Wichita Skyline _sound from my pocket, and I pull my phone out.

The display reads _DiNozzo_.

I flick the phone open, "Hall."

"I'm on my way back," Tony sounds tired and depressed.

"Lara?"

"She didn't make it. I just talked to her surgeon, she said she was surprised Lara pulled through for as long as she did. Her injuries were too severe." I sigh.

"Tony, I'm sorry."

"Never say you're sorry… it's a sign of weakness." Tony quotes one of Gibbs' favorite rules.

"Not tonight it's not. Head down to Abby's. Tim and I will bring you a cup of coffee."


	25. Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty-five

Without a word as to where he's been or what he's found out, Gibbs shows up in Abby's lab.

"Where'd she go?" He demands.

"That's what we're on right now, Boss," Tony replies.

"I'm running a trace on her cell phone as we speak." McGee says, furiously clicking keys.

On the computer screen, a map of the city seems to bounce gently back and forth as circle after circle of color pops up and disappears.

"All I've got are hits on partial number matches for the last twenty-four hours, Boss," Tim says.

"Track her movements for the last week. If you don't get enough to go on from that, make it a month." Gibbs snaps, "And get on the DNA from that second vic, Abbs. I want to be damn sure of who he is before I go making any hasty decisions."

"Yes, sir!" Abby says, sketching a salute. Gibbs glares at her, "Ma'am…" she trails off as his glare becomes a scowl.

"On it, Gibbs!" she casts her gaze sheepishly around before settling it back on her computer.

"You guys realize that DNA is going to take a while, right?" She asks. Tony jerks his head towards the door.

"You know where to find us," he tells her.

Back in the squad room, I hit my desk and start writing up a BOLO for Diana. She may have skipped out while Tony and I were gone, but that didn't mean we were any less guilty of dropping the ball.

I message McGee, '_Did you check out her mom's cell phone?_'

'_Already tried it, her mom isn't much into the digital age._'

'_It was worth a shot, I suppose_,' I typed back, '_I'm putting out a BOLO now._'

As soon as I hit send, Tony looks up, "You putting out a BOLO on Diana?"

"Yep. Do you think I need to put one out for her mom, or her mom's rental?" I ask.

"Couldn't hurt, just make sure you say that we want her mom for questioning, not arrest." This pisses me off, I feel like he isn't taking me seriously.

"I'm not a moron, DiNozzo," I snap, "I've been through this rodeo a time or two."

"You don't say?" He snarks back.

Suddenly, I'm bone weary and just ready for some sleep. I look at the clock and realize that I've been going on twenty-four hours with little caffeine and even less sleep. The clock on my computer continues to mock me with the time as I furiously try to fill out the information.

My eyes are bleary and feel gritty, but I force myself to soldier on. By the time I hit 'print' I notice that Tony has nodded off at his desk, reclined with his feet up. As the machine spits out the forms for me to fax, I start looking for a little _shoedenfreude_. Crossing to Tony's desk, I lay the BOLOs on his lap, causing him to jump awake.

"What?" He slurs.

"Check this over for me, please. I want to make sure everything is right so we can nail this bitch." He picks up the paper and reads.

"You spelled her name two different ways, and she's wanted for 'arrest', not 'a rest'." He hands the paper to me and promptly falls back to sleep.

I return to my desk and fix my mistakes, set up the file as an e-mail and send it first electronically and then by fax. Twenty minutes and two boxing matches with the fax machine later, I finally sit heavily in my chair. I lean forward and put my head on the desk.

Two hours later, I am startled awake by a hand gently shaking me. Opening my eyes, I focus on a cup of coffee about six inches from my nose.

Sitting up slowly, I wince at the pain in my muscles and the cuts on my face. Picking up the cup, I gulp the contents greedily.

Across the way, Tony is stumbling through much of the same routine. He looks the way I feel, disheveled and unwashed. A shadow of stubble plays across his chin, and I am momentarily reminded of Jack. For a long moment, I feel my heart stop and tears threaten.

Shaking it off, I open my e-mail inbox. Two hits, one on the mother and one on her rental.

Sadie had been detained at the hotel, and Metro was asking whether or not we wanted them to deliver her. I replied in the affirmative. The car was picked up in the Anacostia area, several miles from Diana's mother's hotel. The tires had been slashed and the car left vacant. It was no surprise that the thing had been stripped of everything.

So, Diana had been smart. Abandoning the car like that had been a stroke of misfortune for us. With so many people in and out of the car, any trace evidence was scattered and useless. Tony has it towed to the Yard anyway.

I wish for the thousandth time to be smarter than the criminal.

With no luck on the main BOLO, I call area cab companies to see if anyone picked up a fare in the area where the car had been dumped. I give them Diana's description, adding that she may have been traveling with a baby. I have no luck.

I wonder where the hell she's gone. If she was smart enough to dump the car, she'd be smart enough to get the hell away from it to go to ground. But, on the other hand... maybe, just maybe... we'd get lucky and she wouldn't have been quite so intelligent.

I attempt to freshen up, but it only goes as far as brushing my teeth and dragging last night's eyeliner around to look less frightening. Without deodorant, or a decent change of clothing I still feel more grungy than awake. Tony drags me down to Capitol Heights to canvass the neighborhood. We spend a couple of hours showing Diana's picture to anyone that stops long enough to look.

No one has seen her.

Damning our poor luck, I call McGee. He sounds as exhausted as I feel. We're running ourselves ragged chasing every shadow we can. Not chasing them isn't an option. Without medical attention, the Wheat's baby could be dying. And I fear that Diana may be scared of taking him to the ER for the treatment he's most certainly in need of. I'm desperate to find the child before time runs out... we all are.

I spend the morning feverishly refreshing my e-mail and waiting for the phone to ring.

Finally, eons later it seems, Abby catches our first break. We file into her lab for the reveal.

"I've got good news and bad news," she begins, perky as hell, "Which do you want to hear first?" Her mouse roams across the computer screen. Just watching it makes me want to barf from all the coffee I've had.

"Not now Abby," Tony grouses over his umpteenth cup of the vile drink, "Just tell us what you found."

"Someone got up on the wrong side of their desk this morning," Abby observes darkly, "I got something on the DNA."

We wait in silence until Abby grimaces, "You're not going to like it. The two victims at the Wheat house? The matrilineal DNA matches in both victims." Abby says, pulling a printout off her printer and handing it to Gibbs. He passes it to Tony.

"Dave and Lara are siblings?" I ask, shocked.

"No, Lara and our second vic are brother and sister." Abby elaborates as Tony passes me the print-out.

"Dammit, Lara said her brother was visiting, but she wasn't worried because he was so rarely at the house." McGee blanches.

"Then where the hell is her husband?" Gibbs snaps at us. The three of us jump to action, Tony and I start for the elevator. McGee pulls up a chair at Abby's computer console and I hear keys clicking in a furious tandem.

"Abby, is Gibbs there with you?" I hear Ducky ask over the video link. Tony and I pause and turn. Gibbs shoulders between Abby and McGee.

"Right here, Duck."

"Ah! Jethro," Ducky exclaims in greeting, "Did you happen to find a hammer or a small statue at the crime scene?" Gibbs snaps a look from McGee to me. We shake our heads.

"No, why?"

"Well, our male victim looks to have had his skull smashed with a blunt instrument. Bone fragments are consistent with a small, convexly rounded surface."

Tony and I snap a look at each other, "Ball-peen hammer?" we ask in unison.

"Indeed it could be. I would say that when I take a look at Lara, her wounds will help confirm."

"You can give the second victim a name… looks like Lara's only brother, Christian Nelson." Abby leans into the frame. There's a pause.

"Thank you, I'll go change his information immediately." Ducky signs off, and Gibbs looks up at us.

"Well, why the hell are you still standing around? Find the husband," When we don't move quickly enough, he snaps again, "Now, dammit!"

McGee and Abby start babbling back and forth in technese as Gibbs stalks between Tony and I, heading for the elevator. We follow in silence.

When the elevator doors open, we step on and turn. Gibbs speaks.

"I need you two ready to move, are you up for it?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. I'll put out the BOLO, you two grab some shut eye… you look like hell."

"He's talking to you, Cam," Tony smirks tiredly.

"Oh, that's not possible," I say.

"And why's that?"

"Because I sure as hell look better than you."

This time, I stretch out behind my desk to take a real nap.


	26. Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty-six

Somewhere a phone shrills, and a voice answers it. Low tones ensue, and I begin to drift off again.

"Grab your gear," Gibbs barks, "Metro PD found Dave Wheat."

"Where?" I ask, groggily.

"In the alley outside a Capitol Heights bar. Detective says it looks like he got mugged. No wallet, no cash." Across the bullpen, I hear Tony stir.

"You want us to go pick him up?"

"I'm not saying it to hear myself talk, DiNozzo."

I haul myself out of the floor reluctantly. We grab our badges and hit the road.

With the adrenaline rush of possibly breaking the case, Tony and I scramble to get to the precinct. When we arrive, DiNozzo works the room like he's one of them. I go and get Dave released into NCIS' custody. As the cop unlocks the drunk tank so we can leave, I realize Dave's nowhere to be seen amidst the fifteen or so guys milling around in the cell. And when I do see him, I wish I hadn't.

He appears to be completely passed out on the toilet. I look at the cop and he shrugs.

"I've seen worse." a couple of occupants drag Dave off the toilet and pass him slowly through the door. I settle his arm around my shoulders and thank the cop. Our progress is slow, Dave moves like Bernie Lomax… but I figure Bernie probably smelled better. Dave reeks of sweat, alcohol, stale cigarettes, and vomit. I try to limit the number of deep breaths I draw… but Dave is heavy, and I can't hold my breath long.

Rounding the corner in the squad room, I find DiNozzo chatting up a cute blonde with a very obvious engagement ring.

"Excuse the interruption, Tony, but are you gonna give me a hand or do you want me to just _Weekend At Bernie_'s him?" Dave chooses that moment to announce his hangover in a spectacular fashion.

Fortunately for DiNozzo, Dave's unbelievable projectile vomit falls short of where Tony stands at the front desk. I, however, am lucky enough to be between them. It takes me a split second to realize that from my cap to my thigh I am wearing what had, until seconds ago, been the contents of our guy's stomach.

When the shock wears off, my gorge rises, I can't help myself. I start screeching. Just syllables, no real words other than the occasional 'f' word, and a couple of speculations on Dave's parentage. As Dave slurs and drunkenly apologizes to me, for a split second, I smell something strange… it doesn't smell like alcohol or vomit… but the scent is familiar. The thought flees, as Dave vomits a second time all over my shoes.

"God dammit!" I shriek, turning to Tony, "DiNozzo, I'm not riding back to NCIS with him unless we can put him in a bio-hazard suit that he can puke in to his heart's content!"

"You're not riding back to NCIS with me until you wipe some of the vomit off," he flicks at my windbreaker with a tissue. I grab him by the front of the shirt and haul him inches from my face.

"_I_ will _kill _you." I hiss.

"I'll make him ride in the back," Tony whispers, trying not to smell me.

"Behind _you_, DiNozzo… behind _you_."

Forty minutes later, we enter the bullpen, neither of us touching any part of ourselves that we don't have to.

"It was already all over you…" Tony starts.

"He threw up on me _twice_ at the precinct and _twice_ in the car. You owe me big time." I counter, dropping my bag at my desk.

"What the hell for? He threw up on me _while I was __**driving**_," Tony gingerly slips out of his shirt and turns it carefully inside out. I pull my jacket off and roll it into a ball. I pull my hat off, wincing as it pulls my hair. McGee watches in horror and fascination.

"Good job you two," Gibbs says, rounding the corner, "hit the showers and clean up."

"And?" Tony perks up.

"And get your ass back up here, DiNozzo! Triple Homicide… missing baby… missing _suspect… _you connecting the dots here?"

"I was never big on those as a kid," Tony says under his breath and Gibbs clips him across the back of the head with a manila folder. Scrutinizing the folder for a moment, Gibbs curls his lip and flicks it before opening it and handing McGee a piece of paper. He looks back to Tony and me and motions us away, "Shower… go!"

Twenty minutes later, we are back upstairs. Tony seems to have had an extra set of clothing. I had been forced to borrow from Ducky. I twist my still wet hair up in a bun and shove a pencil through it to make it stay.

"Sober him up before we start questioning him. Take him to the garage and hose him down if you have to," Gibbs says, watching Dave through the observation room window.

Dave Wheat nurses an ice pack on his head where someone hit him, staring drunkenly around the room. For long moments he sits quietly, if sullenly.

Suddenly, he leans over the trash can, sides violently heaving. I have sympathy for him, a wife murdered just hours ago and a baby missing, possibly dying. I'd have probably hit the bottle, too.

I tug at the collar of my loaner jumpsuit. I make a mental note to add a go bag to the trunk of my car. I'd rather not be caught in an autopsy jumpsuit again. The material scratches against my bare skin, and chafes my still tender neck.

My discomfort is compounded by the scrubbing I went through in the shower, my face bleeds from a few of the nicks sustained in the blast at the Winters home. I make a mental note to charge Dave interest for vomiting on me. Since DiNozzo and I picked him up, we gift McGee with the task of cleaning Dave up and getting him sober.

Misery loves company.


	27. Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty-seven

A half hour later, McGee sports a jumpsuit like mine. His socks hang limply over the cubicle wall as they air dry after a trip through the NCIS power washer. Gibbs is currently overseeing Dave's sobering up process after Tim tossed his cookies. Apparently McGee is somewhat of a "sympathy puker." His shoes bear traces of the fact.

Abby, Tony, and me had supervised via a video link in Abby's lab. Tony had provided commentary.

Though still pissed at him, I hadn't been able to resist a chuckle or two at our team mate's expense. Neither had Palmer, who had wandered in with "evidence" from Ducky. I'm still not sure who tipped him off to what we were up to… my money would be on Ducky. The man rivals Gibbs sometimes in knowing when something is up.

As we sit, I go through my e-mail for the hundredth time. I glance up to catch McGee staring in my direction, absently bouncing a pencil against his lips. After a moment, he cocks his head and returns to his computer. I flash back to the conversation Tony and I had in the car.

"I'd better not be in the next one," I say evenly, returning my gaze to the monitor.

"Next what?"

"Novel, McGee." I look up in time to catch Tim's accusing look.

"You told her about my books?" McGee's voice ratchets through a full octave. Tony shrugs sheepishly.

"She asked if I had dirt on you… and I did."

"But my _books, _Tony?"

"Chill out, Probieanna. It's not like I didn't tell you what Cam's deal… was…" he trails off before snapping a look in my direction. I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I reach for my bag of M & Ms. Tony tips his chair over as he attempts to dodge a barrage of candy coated missiles.

The phone on his desk rings, and I see him peep over the edge before picking it up.

"Yeah, DiNozzo." The expression on his face goes from embarrassed to serious, "we'll be there."

Hanging up, he pulls himself to his feet, "Abby's got something, she wants us in Autopsy."

"Autopsy?" McGee asks.

"Don't question Abby, McGeek."

The three of us head for the elevator.

Ducky greets us at the door, wasting no time. He crosses to his desk where a video conference with Abby is already in progress.

"You're not going to like this," he begins, "Lara's brother was poisoned in addition to being hit with an object with a convex, 32 millimeter surface. My findings are consistent with the suggested ballpeen hammer."

"The brother was poisoned?" Tony asks, getting straight to the bottom of things, "How?"

"I found a significant amount of ethylene glycol in the samples Ducky sent me," Abby says, voice tinny over the small speaker.

"Which came from tissues I collected from his kidneys, as well as his stomach and intestines." The chemical jogs something in my mind. I've seen this cause of death before, though it's been years.

"Ethylene glycol poisoning? Who slipped the brother an anti-freeze cocktail?" I ask. Ducky glances at me and Tony before answering.

"No one, my dear. Someone was clever… they gave Mr. Nelson oxalic acid. Which, judging from the kidney damage, it's most likely our killer fed their victim undercooked rhubarb."

"Rhubarb? As in pie?" Tony asks.

"Yes, my dear boy. Undercooked the _Rheum rhabarbarum,_ or rhubarb plant, can be quite toxic. From the rate of digestion, I'd say he ingested the poison about six to eight hours prior to his death."

"But Ducky, he'd have to eat, like, _twelve pounds_ of rhubarb to kill him that quickly." Abby says, bouncing the tips of her fingers together nervously.

"Not if it's cooked with soda water. The calcium oxalate formed from combining the soda and rhubarb under heat would make the leaves that much more deadly… and much faster too. When I did his post-mortem, I found something very interesting, if sad. Mr. Nelson was alive when his body was bludgeoned with that hammer."

"He was alive?" I ask.

Ducky turns to me and nods, "Not for much longer, I'm afraid. While the traumas to his cranio-facial area were most certainly fatal… I don't believe our young friend here would have recovered from his poisoning. Due to the size of the crystals in his renal tissues, I would say that he was already not long for this world _before_ someone took a hammer to him."

"That bitch," Abby hisses.

"Indeed. I would be grateful if you would find the hammer… I'd like to double check my findings."

Tony shakes his head and paces, rubbing the brace on his wrist, "There's something not right here… we're missing something. There was nothing at the scene connected to the murders, as far as weapons. No knife, no hammer… not even a hair." He turns back to us, "What does that mean?"

"The killer cleaned up." McGee supplies.

"Used the bathroom in the master bedroom," I weigh in, "We found the blood, and bagged and tagged the soap."

"It just doesn't make sense," Tony says, "Were there prints on the soap?"

"They were smeared, no ridges or identifying marks. I'm guessing someone was wearing gloves."

"Then why wash up?" I ask.

"She wasn't washing her hands… she was cleaning off the hammer. Was she going to put it back?" Tony muses out loud.

"I hate to be the one to say it, but if Diana was smart enough to leave the car in Anacostia to destroy the physical evidence, she's smart enough not to leave the weapon behind. Not even if she washed it off." I point out.

"Look, I'm going to get on the car anyway. There may be traces of whatever weapons she used. If there's any blood in the car, I should be able to conclusively tie the car to the scene at the Wheat's house." Abby says and signs off.

"I was just working on my preliminary look at Lara. There are a few defensive wounds on her forearms and hands. Not enough to suggest that she fought back much. I would say our killer took her by surprise."

"Or she trusted them," Tony stares quietly into the reflection on the cooler for several long moments. Turning on his heel, he disappears with a swish of the doors.

McGee looks after him before checking his watch, "I'd say we're almost ready to start talking to the husband. I'm going to head up and see where we are." He turns for the door. Smiling tightly, Ducky nods at me in approval and I follow Tim.


	28. Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty-eight

In the squad room, we silently watch a feed from the interrogation room as Dave stews in silence. Someone has been kind enough to provide him with pair of scrubs in Autopsy green. I lean over McGee's desk to get a better look. Tony hammers keys on his computer, and I see scene photos from both the Winters and Wheat houses. I watch him compare them side by side, looking for something.

His gut's churning over the murder weapons… mine over the missing child. Inwardly I begin to hope that our instincts will meet in the middle and pay off.

I watch the screen… nothing has changed. Dave still looks hungover and upset. It hits me for the first time that Dave has gotten upgraded to scrubs while McGee and I are still wearing suits one step up from Tyvek.

"Poor Ducky. It looks like he's clothing half of NCIS today," I quip softly, pointing to the screen.

"Only because my extra set of clothes got confiscated by Tony," he whispers matter-of-factly.

"Everything?" I ask, surprised that even DiNozzo would sink so low.

"Everything but my extra boxers." I shudder, an unpleasant image of DiNozzo going commando running through my mind. I try to shake it off.

"It's nice to see that even Tony has limits," I say finally.

I glance over at Tony in time to catch him pick at the seat of his pants. Shuddering in revulsion, I go back to my desk and pull up my e-mail. One hit on the BOLO for Diana from a Metro District Seven detective. I open it immediately.

_A woman of this description was seen entering the Metro rail station at Anacostia. Ticket salesman said she bought a green line ticket headed north with cash. He remembers her because he doesn't see a lot of tickets purchased directly from him, most use the kiosk since it's faster. He says she was traveling alone._

"Guys, District Seven over in Anacostia just responded to the BOLO on Diana. She got on the Green Line, headed north. Transit agent says she was traveling alone."

"Get on that video, McGee."

"He doesn't have to," I say, scrolling down the page, "Metro already pulled it."

"Put it up on the plasma." I hit a series of keys and put my computer screen up on the big tv.

Opening the attachment, we watch in grainy color as Diana strolls casually to the counter and purchases a single ticket. As the clerk begins to pass it under the glass, I pause it.

"Zoom in, Probie," Tony orders. Keys ticking, McGee takes over the screen and zooms in on the ticket. The image dissolves into random pixels. With a few more keystrokes, the picture is still unrecognizable.

Gibbs rounds the corner into the bullpen and takes one look at the screen.

"What's that?" he asks, getting within inches of the screen and squinting.

"It's a close up from the Anacostia Metro station's ticket window. Diana Winters bought a ticket… I'm trying to clean it up now, see if I can get a destination."

"Good work, McGee. Keep on it," Gibbs turns to us, "I think it's time to pay the husband a visit… he's sobered up enough."

Tony and I head into Observation while Gibbs waits outside. In the other room, Dave pours a glass of water and sips carefully.

"Hey, Cam. Bet you twenty bucks I know how Gibbs is gonna break him."

"Oh yeah?" I ask, arching a brow and shooting him a lopsided grin, "I'll take that action."

"Shoot, twenty bucks says he plays good cop/ bad cop all by himself."

"Whatever… my cash is on the 'building a timeline' classic," I respond.

"It's your money," he shrugs. We shake to seal the deal. I turn back to the window, confident that Gibbs' tactics can't have changed that much. The man had always been a genius when it came to building the timeline of the crime.

In Interrogation, Dave gets up from his chair, and says loudly, "Can I get some asprin in here?" He clutches his head and sits down again. Skin tingeing green, he asks more subdued, "Anyone? Please?"

For a second, silence stretches tautly between the two rooms. And even though I'm ready for it, I still jump when the door opens. Gibbs slams the door behind himself. The reverberation makes the glass hum. Dave puts his hands to his ears and curls around the edge of the table.

Gibbs sets a manila folder and a breathalyzer on the table. Pulling out a straw, he begins to insert it onto the machine.

"What are you doing?" Dave asks nervously.

"I need you to submit to a breathalyzer test, before we begin."

"I'm sober… just hugover," Dave says quietly.

"Are you waiving the test?"

"Yeah, I'm waiving the test. I'm not even buzzed anymore. I'd be in a lot better shape to help you guys if I could just get something for my head." He massages his temple with one hand.

Gibbs begins to loudly inform Dave of his rights.

"What the hell? I'm not guilty… I don't need a lawyer. I'm trying to help you bastards, and you're arresting me?"

"I'm not arresting you, I'm just letting you know… F-Y-I." I can hear the sarcasm in Gibbs' voice as he spells the acronym slowly, enunciating each letter.

"You're scaring the shit out of me… I just want to help. I want you to catch the crazy bitch that did this to my family!"

"We'll see."

Dave goes ballistic, "See what? I didn't do it! What are you thinking? That when you guys came around, sniffing for clues to the murder of my wife's ex-lover… you figured I knew that I had the perfect cover to get rid of that cheating bitch once and for all? That I thought Diana would take the fall because the evidence of her guilt would be pretty overwhelming?"

"Is that how it happened?"

"God, no! I love my wife!" He practically pleads with Gibbs.

"How did you end up in this condition?"

"I went to the bar, I needed time to think… and drink. Apparently, I pissed some guy off, we fought, and he cracked me over the head with something. Barmaid said it was a pool cue. I don't remember anything but darkness and pain. And lots of ice."

"Tell me about the baby?" Gibbs' questions come from every direction imaginable as he tries to throw Dave off. Confuse him, possibly catch him in a lie.

"Look, I know Aiden isn't biologically mine… I've been impotent since I was eighteen. I didn't care that I wasn't his father… I just wanted to be his dad. From the time Lara and I made our peace, I've just been waiting to raise our son. I love them both, Agent Gibbs… and if I," his voice breaks, and I see tears form, "and if I can't have Lara, I just want my child back. Please… you have to understand."

"You're impotent?"

"Yeah, I went camping with some friends, got a tick bite, and the next thing I knew, I was in the hospital with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever… I'm lucky to not be deaf or blind, you know?" He chuckles nervously. Gibbs' face lights up and he leans down to place a hand on Dave's shoulder.

"That's good to hear, Dave… really good." I see his hand tighten over the bones in Dave's shoulder, "Because I'd hate for you to miss this part… this is my favorite part." Gibbs smirks, and Dave tenses.

"What would I miss?"

"This." Gibbs pulls Dave Wheat to his feet, and bends him forcefully over the table. Not being particularly gentle, he lets Dave's head bounce off the table once. I gasp, and look at Tony. DiNozzo seems unimpressed by either the information or the display.

"You're under arrest, you son of a bitch!" Gibbs growls, snapping the handcuffs around Dave's wrists, "For the murder of Christian Nelson, Lara Wheat and the attempted murder of the child she was carrying." Gibbs pushes him back down into the chair, putting his handcuffed arms around the back of it.

Dave's whole demeanor changes in the blink of an eye and he begins to flail angrily, "You can't charge me for trying to kill the baby! That'll never stand up in court… it was a fetus! It doesn't have rights!"

"It _was_ a fetus… you 're right about that. But you cut him out of your wife's uterus… and he survived. That baby had rights the second you cut his cord." Dave's face falls and he has that wild look suspects get when they know they're cornered.

Gibbs turns his chair around and straddles it, pulling out the manila folder.

Tony looks expectantly at me.

"Fine!" I snap and reach for my wallet. Pulling out a twenty, I start to hand it over, "So, Gibbs is playing Good Cop/Bad Cop by himself… big deal." I grouse, waving the bill and watching Tony try to snatch it, "I was sure he was going to go with 'building a timeline' until Dave knew he was screwed." I turn my attention back to the interrogation next door for a moment and DiNozzo strikes, ripping the twenty from my hand.

"Nah, Gibbs isn't much into the building a timeline anymore," he snaps the bill between his fingers a few times, as if testing it's strength, "He's hit a new level of 'how the hell did he do that?'" As Tony prattles on, making a big production out of folding up the bill and placing it in his pocket. I choose to watch Gibbs work instead. He takes a photo of Darryl, holds it up. I perk up, knowing what's coming.

"Oh, wait for it, DiNozzo. Waaaiiiit for it," I draw out the last part. I hold my hand out, ready to retake my money. He swats it away, patting his pocket.

"Losers weepers, Cam." In the other room, Gibbs tears the photo in half.

"But then you had your wife, here…" Gibbs picks up a picture of Lara, shows Dave, "and when you heard about her ex-boyfriend, you decided to step up your time table. Why wait for her to have an 'accident' when you could just pawn her death off on a psychopathic madwoman? You couldn't have asked for a better setup. Diana takes the fall, and you walk away," He tears the photo in half. Picking up the next photo, he looks at it for a long moment, and this time I can hear his words, his voice terrifyingly soft.

"The child wasn't the straw that broke the camel's back," he turns the image around, "no, it was just icing on the cake." He puts a sonogram down unharmed.

Dave slumps heavily back into the chair and stares at Gibbs, "You've got it so wrong."

"Try me," Gibbs challenges.

"Why would I kill my wife, Agent Gibbs? Over infidelity? I'm not that shallow."

"Oh… of course not. You wouldn't be that shallow for love," Gibbs shuffles papers around on the table before laying one down in front of Dave, "But I think you would be for money." The suspect makes immediate eye contact with Gibbs.

"Uh-huh. See, Dave, what I'm thinking is that you had about 1.7 _million_ reasons to want your wife and her brother dead. Lara's trust fund went to you if Christian died first. But you couldn't divorce her and keep the money if you filed. And with Darryl Walker's murder, you had the perfect cover to get rid of all of the key players that stood between you and the cash."

"I'm going to tell you exactly what's gone down in the last couple of days. Now, you just sit there and shut the hell up, and I'll give you your turn to speak in a minute." Gibbs steeples his fingers, and I know Dave is feeling that cold, penetrating, ice-blue stare.

"When you found out that Lance Corporal Winters was dead, you assumed his wife had gone off the deep end. You had a problem though, you had to find a way to get rid of Christian before you could be next in line for that money. So, you attempted to poison him. Under cooked rhubarb was a brilliant plan, it's simple, unassuming, and almost always fatal… but you didn't have enough time for Christian to die on his own, so you helped him along with a ballpeen hammer. You were in the process of covering your tracks when Lara came home."

Dave's jaw clenches and a vein in his forehead pulses erratically.

"So, you took her by surprise, hammer in hand. Your first blow glanced… maybe you froze. You knocked her to the floor, scattering the mail in her hand. What you didn't take into account, were my two agents sitting outside. My people are very good, they have an instinct for when something isn't right."

"You were in the house when my agents came to the door, as soon as Lara cried out for help, you hit her again, took the child you had just cut from her body, and escaped through the garage, managing to bypass my agents who were busy trying to save your wife. I'm betting that when we tow your car back here, we're gonna find that hammer and a knife in the trunk," Gibbs chuckles with certainty, "Hell, it doesn't even matter if it's not there now. My forensic tech is so good, she can tell me if either of those have passed through you car recently… because no matter how well you cleaned the hammer up, it's still going to leave evidence behind."

"After you left the house, you panicked. Maybe you couldn't get the kid to eat, or stop crying. Maybe you never really wanted him at all. Whatever happened, You dumped the baby on Diana. But I bet there's something I know about this whole situation that even you don't know." Dave glowers.

"He pushed Diana over the edge. She'd just suffered a miscarriage a few months ago… so she's not entirely stable. The way I look at it, if anything happened to that little boy, yesterday, you're just as guilty as she is. And a jury's gonna fry you."

"I want my lawyer. And a phone call."

I see Gibbs nod, "I figured you would."

Beside me, Tony smirks, "They're so predictable."


	29. Twenty Nine

Chapter Twenty-nine

In the interrogation room Dave dials a number. He waits, mumbling into the phone.

"Pick up the phone, you stupid bitch!" Dave snaps, "Thanks to you, I've got NCIS on my ass. Whatever happens, you better hope they send me to prison first! Because so help me God, when I find you…" the rest of his words are lost as Gibbs flips the sound switch.

"You don't want to hear the rest?" I ask. Gibbs turns a level stare on me.

"Nope."

"Why?" Gibbs spreads his hands and raises an eyebrow as if to say, 'you should know this.'

"Because it's all the same. He thinks she rolled on him when she was here earlier… he has no idea we can't find her." Tony translates the gesture for me.

"Then why call her?" I ask, defending my original question.

"Who knows? People tend to do dumb shit when they know they've been had," Tony turns to Gibbs, "So, what do you think?" Tony asks.

"I think you owe Cam ten bucks," Gibbs quips, before moving to the tech and speaking softly. I grin and hold my hand out.

Grumbling, Tony hands me nine ones and shrugs, "That's all I've got. You'll have to take an IOU."

Holding up the bills I ask, "What the hell, DiNozzo?"

"_What the hell_ what, Cam?" He gives me a devious grin, "I hear you like your change in ones."

"Hey!" Gibbs says sharply, drawing back as if to hit Tony on the head before moving towards the door.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony says sheepishly, following him.

"I swear to God, DiNozzo, I'll put my foot so far up your ass…" the door cracks, silencing his threat. McGee enters, wearing a triumphant expression.

"Now what?" I ask.

"Now we find Diana," McGee says before getting smug, "And I know where to start looking."

On the screen, the ticket appears, much more clear this time.

"Ok, this is the ticket Diana Winters bought on her way out of Anacostia. I ran it thorough a series of filters, UV and thermal to try and bring out…"

The three of us stare him down.

"She got off the Green Line at Gallery Place."

"And?" Gibbs asks.

"And didn't buy another ticket. Wherever she went after that, she walked or got a ride."

"She didn't take a cab, I've already canvassed every major cab company in the city," I say.

"What about gypsy drivers? You know, the guys that use their car after hours to make a buck?" I mentally slap myself.

"I put out the call to every company I could. I guess I assumed the word would trickle down to the non-company drivers through word of mouth… especially since I made clear that the Wheat's baby's life was in the balance." I am cut off by Gibbs clipping me across the back of the head.

"Rule Eight," is all he says.

"Never take anything for granted," Tony supplies, "especially when lives are in danger."

"So, now what? How am I going to reach hundreds of these drivers without a way to contact them directly?"

"Figure it out, Hall." Gibbs starts to walk away.

"Actually, she may not have to," McGee says, "I've been keeping an eye on Diana's cell phone to try and track her movements. She must have had it off since she left here. Looks like she has it on and is checking messages." He clicks keys, "You're gonna love this, Boss. She's on the phone right now."

"Trace it McGee!"

"Starting now, Boss," he pauses, "She's in DC, close to the Mall, close to…" he trails off, "Lost the trace."

"Who was she talking to?" Gibbs asks crossing back to McGee's desk. He leans over and looks, "I've got you, you son of a bitch." Gibbs heads out the door slamming it in his wake.

"Where's he going?" Tony asks.

I smirk, "He's going to play them against each other. Use Dave to help us trace her location."

McGee stands, "I'll set up the recorder."

"I love this part," Tony practically rubs his hands together in glee, "We've got 'em now."

Fifteen minutes later, we're sitting in the squad room and fires off an e-mail to Abby asking her to take a listen and see if she can find anything to help us pinpoint her location.

"I thought you were tracing her, McGoogle."

"She hung up in under nine seconds. I'm fast, but I'm not that fast. The best I could get was that she's somewhere between F and I streets and 3rd and 6th."

"That's only a few square blocks," I point out.

"Yeah, but in DC a square block isn't always square… especially when you start getting close to Chinatown. It's all buildings and alleys with parking lots everywhere. That whole area she could be in is full of apartments and shops she could be hiding out in."

"Well, let's get on it then," I say, ready to be moving forward again.

"Split up, I want two of you in a car and on the way now," Gibbs says.

DiNozzo suggests, "I vote Cam and McGee team up as the worst-dressed members of the team, Gibbs."

"Doesn't matter… whoever stays behind has to scrub Interrogation."

"I'll grab a car!" Tim says quickly.

"I've already got my gear!" I jump up and sling my bag over my shoulder.

"See you!" We chorus and head for the elevator.

I use my time wisely by paying Ducky a second visit to see if I can talk him out of a set of scrubs while I wait for McGee.


	30. Thirty

Chapter Thirty

McGee and I fly through the twilight, on Diana's trail as best we can be. She's tough to track, there doesn't seem to be any conscious thought other than going to ground. With the clock ticking down, McGee and I are at the mercy of what Abby can find by attempting to analyze the call recording.

McGee had narrowed down the cell node to a six-block area. Within that six block area was a whole lot of crap. Buildings with shops on the street and apartments above. I figured it would take us days to properly search the entire area. Abby was busily trying to find us anything in the audio of Dave's phone call to her that would help us narrow down the search radius.

Trolling the streets, we've been at it almost an hour when McGee's cell phone shrills. He digs the iPhone out and tosses it to me.

"Hall," I say.

"Cam? Abby. I ran the call through a series of filters utilizing the most common decible levels of..."

"Abby? Tick tock, what do you have?" I almost snap.

"Should've been, 'tick tock, what've you got?' And what I've got is something in the background that sounds like a street performer playing a violin."

"A violin? You're saying we should be looking for someone standing on the street playing a violin?"

"Pretty much. Either that or they're on a fire escape. Point is, it's music and it sounds close. I'm thinking a second or third floor area, although I guess she could be anywhere there's a fire escape. I also caught a lot of traffic, so she's probably in an area that faces the street, or is on the corner of a building." Abby types in the background and I hear indistinct garble, "I hear two different decibels of traffic, she's definitely in a building on the corner of two streets. Neither sounds overly busy... so I'm guessing she's not on the corner near H Street. You might try some of the side streets. I'm hearing enough ambient traffic to suggest that she might be back in a relatively residential area, I don't hear a lot of anything from possible passersby."

"Thanks, Abby. Let us know if you catch anything else." I disconnect and roll my window down.

"What are we looking for?" McGee asks, eyes scanning the street.

"Something off of H, on a corner... and someone's playing the violin. She said it sounded like the traffic flow was fairly light."

We continue in silence for several seconds, each of us glued to the sounds coming in our open windows. Three blocks from H Street, McGee pulls over.

"Do you hear that?" He asks. I cock my good ear to the window. A lonely wailing drifts to us and I nod. It takes a moment to pinpoint the direction. As soon as we're in agreement, Tim pulls away from the curb and floors it around a corner onto a side street. In front of an Asian market, five or six men sit around a small table. Two are playing checkers, one is sweeping and the others watch the game intently waving small wooden hand fans to stir the evening air. In a second story window a teenage girl holds a long necked instrument. It wails mournfully as she drags the bow across the single string. In an instant I recognize the instrument, a Chinese violin, and tell McGee to stop the car.

Jumping out, I startle the men playing checkers. They look at me guardedly. I cross the sidewalk to them.

"Excuse me, I'm a little turned around," I say sheepishly, putting on a drawl "I'm trying to find my sister's new apartment, and I'm having trouble reading the addresses."

They glance at each other before looking back to me.

"She's about this tall," I indicate Diana's height, "She has light brown hair and brown eyes."

"We no see her," One says. They barely glance at me before going back to their game.

"Please, sir... I came all the way from Tennesee to see her new baby boy." I plead. Finally one of them looks back to me.

"Look lady, you no act like sister... you act like cop." The man with the broom speaks for the first time, "Maybe I know her if I see her."

I produce Diana's latest mugshot, "She look a little crazy," he says.

I drop the accent, "Look, guys, I'm looking for her because she's kidnapped a baby boy... he needs to see a doctor, and if we don't find both of them soon, there's a chance that baby will die."

They guys talk quickly amongst themselves in what I'm guessing is Vietnamese.

"We keep eye out for her," the man with the broom says. I hand him my card and thank the men for their time. I haven't gone two steps before they've forgotten about me.

In the car once more, I buckle my seat belt and Tim merges back into the meager traffic on the street. Two blocks away, we circle back and park halfway down the block. McGee calls Gibbs.

"I'm pretty sure we found the building, boss, but no one's been very forthcoming with information." Down the way, the man with the broom sets it down and trades places with one of the guys at the checkers table. None of them look very ruffled by my sudden appearance, but looks can be decieving.

"We're sitting on the building, no one's done anything since we left." For the first time, I count the men at the table. One is missing. I wait to see if he's gone in the store. McGee gives Gibbs the address, and hangs up.

"One of our checkers enthusiasts is missing," I say, pointing to the now empty stool shoved up against the storefront.

"Maybe he just went inside for a minute?"

"Maybe." I say, the empty stool buzzing at the back of my mind. I had serious doubts the player would be returning, why else would it be shoved out of the way?

Twenty minutes later, the missing player returns and glances up and down the street before crossing and entering a building on the other side. Four floors up, a light goes on and I see the same man pace by the window. I perk up.

"I don't know what the hell he was doing... but I'm guessing it might have had something to do with my visit," I say, pointing to the now-lit window. I make a mental note to track him down if we lose Diana Winters again. The night crawls on and nothing seems to move. Even the checker players have packed it in for the night. My phone vibrates in my pocket.

I open the face to see one new message from Tony. 'Cam, we're around the corner. In position to take her if she bolts.'

I reply, acknowledging that I received his message. Turning to McGee, I say quietly, "Gibbs and Tony are around the corner... we should know immediately if Diana takes off."

Silently we watch the building and alleyway to make sure we haven't missed her. I take the first watch, letting McGee rest for his shift in the dead of night. I hated getting stuck with that three to six watch anyway.

On the street a handful of people come and go. I mark each of them in a small note pad. Around one, the street becomes deserted and stays that way for the rest of my watch. I wake McGee at three fifteen and settle back in my seat to grab some rest.


	31. Thirty One

Chapter Thirty-one

_2003_

_Eight hours and a Denny's grand slam after finding me in my miserable state, Sharon and I are riding in a limo to the cemetery. My suit is stiff and scratchy, and I fidget on the seat. 'Where have you left me, Jack?' I wonder, watching a fine mist fall. It's surprisingly cold outside for Southern California, even though it's February. Sharon and her mother both wear heavy jackets and gloves, and I wear a simple black suit with a heavy black trenchcoat that hasn't seen the light of day but four or five times in the years that I've lived in Southern California._

"_Cameron, are you alright?" Mrs. Winslow asks quietly._

"_Yes, ma'am," I say worrying a loose piece of braid on the car seat with my black gloved hands. I am instantly six again, at the funeral of my father's mother._

My black shoes have the same shine on the toes, and I can see with perfect clarity the polished wooden pews and dark wood floors of our little country church. My hair in pigtails, I peer through my bangs at the dust motes that hang in the sunbeams. The preacher drones on for a long time, and the July heat is stifling. After what seems like an eternity, we stand and sing Eternal Father Strong To Save.

_As we turn into the cemetery, I quietly start to hum the familiar hymn from my childhood as I smooth the plastic on my armrest. Sharon looks sharply at me._

"_Sorry. Nervous habit." I shrug. Looking to the floor, I will this day to be over. The limousine glides smoothly to a stop, and as soon as the door opens, I step out to help Sharon and Mrs. Winslow. I snap open an umbrella and hold it above them. As we walk across the wet grass, the ringing in my ear returns, this time at a new, lower frequency. I try to shake it off, but it seems to have settled in. I make sure Mrs. Winslow is settled and I flick a quick look at Sharon._

"_Sit down, Cam." I shake my head._

"_I'm going to stand on the line. Take care of your mom." I say and hurry off to join the line of agents that is forming. Stepping up between Shanks and Berry, I about lose it when they each lay a hand on my shoulders. When the back of the hearse opens and six young Marines haul Jack's flag draped casket out, I feel a strange detachment wash over me. It's almost as if my body isn't my own… like my mind has crawled inside someone else's body to observe. I go through the same motions as everyone else, and I stand at attention while the preacher intones, "Ashes to ashes; dust to dust."_

_Across the misty field at the top of the rise, a lone trumpet player blows the first bittersweet bars of _Taps_. The notes seem to hang heavily in the air, as if the gravity of the ritual is keeping them there. We raise our hands in salute as the Marines begin to fold the flag, and the bugler blows the second line. Each progressive fold makes the flag smaller and smaller, until I can barely believe that it ever covered the coffin. As the final notes of the song die away over the gentle rise, the lead Marine hands Mrs. Winslow the flag with both hands and she receives it. I see his lips move and she nods numbly. A line of men file out, and as one, they raise their rifles and on command, fire three salvos. I watch Sharon flinch with each report._

_In spite of my best efforts to keep my tears at bay, a solitary tear slips down my cheek before I break my salute. When everything is done, mourners gather around the family, and everything I've kept bottled up hits me. Falling out, I run straight to the nearest tree, and empty the contents of my stomach. Hands on my knees, I stare down at what's left of my Grand Slam until I am startled by a darkly gloved hand offering me a handkerchief. Accepting it gratefully, I stand to face the owner of the hand. _

_And come face to face with Special Agent Gibbs._

_His eyes look bluer than ever, even under the murky grey skies. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I watch him studying me._

"_I'm sorry about your partner," he says._

"_Thank you, Agent Gibbs."_

"_There are no badges today. Call me Jethro," his blue eyes study me carefully, "How are you, Cam?"_

"_Well, they're getting ready to put my partner in the ground, I can't seem to get rid of the ringing in my ears, I am _extremely _hung over, and I can't wait to go home and drink this day away… but, all in all, I'm making the best out of one of the worst days of my life."_

"_It gets easier… with time." He promises._

"_Does it?" I try to return the handkerchief. He motions that I should keep it._

"_Not the first week, or even the second. But eventually it gets easier to deal with."_

"_Jack wasn't just my partner… he was my best friend. Do you have any idea what that's like, to lose your best friend?" He looks at the grass near my feet before answering._

"_Yeah." His voice breaks slightly, and it tugs at my heart. Now it's my turn to look at the ground._

"_I'm sorry. Sharon says I should be getting down on my knees and kissing your ass… you know, for saving my life…"_

"_Don't say you're sorry… it's a sign of weakness," his voice is soft, and I suspect the words are spoken automatically._

"_Yesterday, I wished I would die, just to make the pain stop."_

"_Pain is there to remind us that we're still alive." He says simply. I nod._

"_But I got to thinking about it while Sharon was busting my ass to get me sober. And she's right… I ought to be kissing your ass. But you don't seem like the type that thrives on that kind of adulation."_

"_No." he shakes his head. Our eyes meet again, and I voice the conclusion I've come to._

"_You're my hero, Jethro." We stand there for several long moments, just staring at each other. After a while, he juts his chin in the direction of the funeral._

"_I think they're waiting for you." I extend my hand and we shake._

"_Thank you… more than you know." I turn and head for the fresh grave. When I draw near the casket, I put my face to the wood and murmur my goodbyes to Jack._

"_I love you, Jack." My voice breaks as I stroke the wood for a final time and wipe tears from my face. Turning back to the tree, I see Gibbs still standing there by himself. Sharon takes me by the arm and I follow her to the limo. Pausing at the door, I help her in and turn for one last time to look at the tree._

_The Special Agent has vanished._

At six, McGee wakes me to retrieve a brown paper sack from the curb by my door. In it is a set of earwigs and a note. 'Should've been coffee, I know' is all it says. McGee and I plug ourselves in and begin the process anew. We each check in and update the others as to what we didn't see during the night. He declines to nap, electing instead to check up on our BOLOs. So far, there have been no hits. The sky above us has clouded over sometime during the night. It looks like it could rain at any moment.

_Perfect_, I think

The day is shaping up to be very annoying, if boring.

It doesn't stay boring for long.

At a little after eight, curtains on the third floor twitch. I catch a glimpse of dirty brown hair and pale skin before the drapes get dragged firmly closed. I call Gibbs on the mic.

"Activity on the third floor, corner apartment."

"Alright, let's get ready to move if we see her." McGee and I check our holsters and clips. A few minutes later, Diana exits a side door and moves away from us down the alley.

"I have eyes on the suspect," McGee says.

"Do you have eyes on that baby?"

"Possibly, Boss, she had something in her hands when she came out the door," We quietly get out of the car and get ready to head across the street.

"Split up," Gibbs says, "McGee, follow her down the alley. Cam, meet up with DiNozzo out front and follow us in in case she doubles back. Cut through the store. Be careful, assume she has the child," McGee and I separate and head to our assigned locations. Over the earwig, I hear Gibbs call for local law enforcement backup.

When Tony and I meet up, we search the store aisle by aisle under heavy protest in two languages from the store owner... the man with the broom from the night before. Tony shoves his badge in the guy's face, and he retreats. Presumably to call the cops. Over the earwig, McGee confirms that he's lost Diana. In the maze of alleys between the buildings, she could have gone anywhere. Gibbs orders him to back out, backup would be arriving any second to seal off the entire block.

Tony and I exit the store and take a car to the other end of the block in an attempt to catch Diana between our two groups. As soon as Metro Police show up, we take the car and begin to slowly drag the alleys in an attempt to flush Diana. After the third alley we investigate, DiNozzo turns to take us back to the street and we find ourselves at a dead end. Cursing, DiNozzo goes to back up and hits something. Our rear tire pops and hisses malevolently, stopping the car.

With a shared look of irritation, we get out of the car and check it out. Sure enough, the tire on my side of the car is ripped open on a piece of metal that may once have been a trashcan.

"Dammit!" DiNozzo exclaims, "Boss, we've got a flat."

"Then change the tire, DiNozzo. I want every vehicle we have mobile in case she slips past us."

"On it," Tony says. He opens the trunk and I pull out the spare, plopping it heavily on the street. Reaching for the jack, he curses again when the handle falls off and hits him on the toe. I can't help but laugh as I put it together and slide it under the car. In ten minutes we've got the new tire on and I'm getting ready to put the old one in the trunk.

I drop it heavily into the tire well and slam the trunk lid. I'm just about to make a smart ass comment when I think I hear something. It sounds like the scraping of gravel, and I pause for a moment beside the driver's side door.


	32. Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty-two

More gravel scraping, I've got eyes up, but see nothing. Then I hear a 'pop' and turn, only to recognize a second 'pop' as gunfire and be spun into Tony. Pain blossoms down my arm and across my chest so intensely I can't breathe. Dropping to a knee, I look down and regret it. There is a neat hole in my Kevlar, and I reach up to locate the slug. I touch the hole, jerking my hand away when my finger goes all the way through. A fresh wave of pain blinds me and I look at my fingers. By now, blood pours down my chest from a ragged hole in my NCIS vest.

Tony bends down behind me, "What happened?"

Wordlessly, I show him the blood on my fingers. He pulls back in confusion and shock before drawing his Sig and hitting a crouch. Suddenly, the clouds burst and it starts to rain. Blinking back the heavy drops, Tony shouts, "Boss! Cam's down." I place my hand to my chest as a sudden salvo of small arms fire fills the sky above our heads. There's a scrabble of small rocks and broken concrete before Gibbs slides to a stop next to us.

He peeks over the trunk of the Charger and looks back at me. I sit heavily on the pavement and lean against the driver's door. Raising my right palm to Gibbs, I show him the blood. Rain pours down on us and I start to shiver. Tony pulls the edge of my shirt towards him, examining it and finding it already saturated with blood. Looking up, I realize we're in a dead end alley… if I want out, I'm going to have to go through Diana Winters.

"We have to get her out of here," Gibbs says, checking down the alley, "What are you doing?" he asks as I reach awkwardly for the weapon slung under my left arm.

"I'm getting my Sig because I'm walking the fuck out of here," I say, unholstering my gun awkwardly with my non-shooting hand, I rack the slide weakly and thumb the safety. Pulling my finger out of the trigger guard, I nod my readiness. Tony helps me put my bad arm around Gibbs and I wince.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Tony says at my obvious discomfort.

"Yeah. That bitch shot me, and if I get the chance to return the favor, I'm gonna do it."

"On three, I'm going to pick you up, and we're going to start walking. DiNozzo, if you see Winters, put her down." He helps me to a crouch and I bite my cheek to keep from whimpering.

"One."

Tony racks the slide on his Sig.

"Two."

The three of us get our feet under ourselves.

"Three."

Gibbs hauls me to my feet and we start a hobbling jog for the mouth of the alley. We're almost out when Diana steps into the path. She looks psychotic, eyes wide and wild, rain wet hair plastered to her skull, sundress molded to her too-thin frame. Everything stands surreally still until she levels a nine millimeter Beretta at us.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going?" She asks almost conversationally as she swings the gun back and forth between Gibbs, me, and Tony.

"She needs a hospital," Tony says calmly, leaving the barrel of his gun down.

"You're lying." Her eyes narrow coldly.

"Why would I lie? You're the one who shot her."

"She's trying to take my baby away," Diana spits at me, clenching the grip of her Beretta.

"It's not your baby, Diana," Gibbs says.

"Well, he should have been," she chokes out.

The gun is pointed at Gibbs, and I see her finger tighten on the trigger. Time does a funny warp, slowing down until I can see everything in slow motion. Adrenaline thrums in my veins as I dig my hip into Gibbs' side, throwing him off balance. The muzzle flashes, a single blinding strobe, as I turn to face her, knocking Gibbs the rest of the way to the ground.

I am knocked sideways by the impact of a second high velocity slug but I keep my feet. Bringing my Sig up, I see her mouth form an 'O' of surprise before time warps again. This time it speeds up, and I've double tapped her heart before I realize I've pulled the trigger. When she goes down, I sway on my feet, Gibbs and Tony looking on in shock.

Jumping to his feet, Gibbs takes my gun and steadies me.

"Did she hit you?" he asks, and I shake my head.

I try to add a verbal 'no' but I'm gasping like a horse after winning the Derby. There's a gurgling sound, and I try to figure out where it's coming from. With a sinking heart, I realize that _I'm _making that god-awful sound. Staggering back a single step, I fall straight back into Gibbs. He puts an arm under my knees and sweeps me off the ground.

"What the hell are you staring at, Tony? Call an ambulance!" Two Metro cops appear out of nowhere, and Gibbs instructs them to stay with the body.

"We're coming to you," I hear Tony say, sounding as if he's in a can. Closing my eyes against the falling rain, I see white behind my eyelids and feel a searing pain as I am jostled and shaken. Sometime during the whole ordeal, I whimper.

"It's ok, we're almost there. Stay with me," Gibbs murmurs to me.

"I'm trying," I gasp, realizing that some of the moisture on my face is not the rain. The strange thing about human hearing is that when something is happening inside your body, the sound is amplified. I hear my heart start to beat irregularly, each breath is a deafening, gurgling gasp.

Coming out of the warren of alleys and buildings, we enter a sidewalk blockaded off by police. Several of them scramble to meet us shouting questions. My chest aches and every time my heart beats it hurts, both of my wounds hammer in time to my heart, which skips all over the place. Opening my eyes and looking up, I see grey skies and Gibbs. Around the edges of my vision, a darkness swirls, threatening to engulf me. I try to bite back a cry of pain as my boss sets me gently on the concrete.

Gibbs pulls out a knife and uses it to slice the straps on my Kevlar. Gently removing the breastplate, I see him take in my wounds. He grimaces, which I take to be a bad sign.

"Teflon," Gibbs comments, tossing the heavy breastplate away. Tony's mouth pulls tight in a frightening line.

"Bitch," he says quietly. My head rolls to the side, and I see McGee nudge the kevlar with his toe, eyes going wide as the front plate falls open. Even I can see at least one neat hole… the concrete a dirty grey through the black material.

"Are you still with me?" Gibbs asks, turning my chin towards him. Pain sears through me and I whimper.

"Yeah." I clutch suddenly at the sleeve of his jacket, "Don't let them send me home in a bag, Gibbs." I plead. Rolling my head, I see Tony wearing a grim expression.

"Shut up, you're not dying." Gibbs says roughly.

"Tony… I can't die knowing that you don't know the truth…" I go on, unable to keep a burbling, blood-laced giggle out of my voice. Tony draws closer and leans down, I pull him close, whispering loudly, "McGee's my favorite." He looks at me and laughs softly. Tim stands back, looking unsure until his gaze snaps up and settles on something in the distance.

"Liar." DiNozzo whispers, tears in his eyes. The rain suddenly becomes an absolute downpour.

"Maybe." I laugh quietly, grimacing against the pain. Using my good arm, I wipe the spittle from my lips. A quick glance reveals frothy red liquid, already washing down my wrist in the driving rain. DiNozzo lays a hand gently on my arm and I look up into his grey-green eyes. Each of us is apologizing the only way we know how. McGee perks up and takes two half steps towards us.

Dropping to a knee, he takes my hand, eyes and face showing extreme relief, "You're gonna be ok. I can see the ambulance now. They're almost here, Cam."

"Thank you, Tim." I say, gently squeezing his hand. Disengaging my hand, I look up at Gibbs, lifting a hand that feels like dead weight to caress his cheek.

"In spite of everything it's been a hell of a ride." He places his hand on top of mine. I hear sirens in the distance now. His cheek is smeared with blood- my blood- and the rain is washing traces of it down his face.

"Hold on, Cam." He says, and my eyelids flutter closed as I feel myself getting lighter. I fight to keep looking at him, but my body is so tired, more tired than I have ever been in my whole life. I use every ounce of strength in my being to force my leaden lids open, blinking sluggishly against the steadily falling rain.

I shiver, "I'm cold." My hand falls away from the smooth, cold skin of his chin. Gibbs wraps an arm around me and pulls me close, resting his chin on my head. Tony and Tim look on, and I swear I see tears in their eyes and on their cheeks… it's hard to be sure in the rain. When I look back to Gibbs, I see cracks in his stoic front. He starts to speak and I shush him gently with a heavy hand. I see pain in his blue eyes, but I smile in an attempt to put on a brave front. The darkness at the edges of my vision has been steadily encroaching.

I feel my chest hitch, and I gasp as the darkness finally takes over me. My eyes slide closed and the cold falls away.

I breathe my last…

"You're still my hero… Jethro."


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

"Agent Hall, you're being reassigned," Vance says, more jovially than I feel, "I'm moving you over to violent crimes down on Two. You proved your mettle this last week."

"Thank you, sir," I say automatically, looking over his shoulder at the reunion going on behind him. A dark haired woman with a pronounced black eye limps to a stop in front of Gibbs' desk. Abby waits with a smile and eagerly leans in to hug the woman. When the woman shies away from Abby's hug it seems to startle her, and Abby settles for keeping her distance.

Vance follows my gaze, "That's Officer David… she was on Gibbs' team a while back until she was recalled to Mossad for an important mission. Looks like she's back for good this time." I simply nod. Shaking Director Vance's hand, I hitch my sling up on my shoulder and head down the stairs.

On my way out, I pause at the edge of the bullpen. Everyone stops and looks up at me.

"I just wanted to say my good-byes. I've been transferred to Violent Crimes, you know?" I point down, "It's not like we aren't going to see each other anymore." There are a couple of murmured yeahs and handshakes from Gibbs, Ducky, McGee and Palmer with my good hand. Abby hugs me gently, avoiding my bad shoulder. A few words of encouragement are exchanged, and I am finally introduced to Ziva David.

She looks like she's been through hell. If word of mouth is to be believed, it was worse than hell. I try to picture her without the abrasions and decide that she must be a very beautiful woman. No wonder DiNozzo had been pissed when I filled in.

The woman and I shake hands, and I look around for Tony. He's nowhere to be found and I attempt to shrug off my disappointment. Walking out of the bullpen for the last time, I feel a sadness overcome me. At the elevator, I hit the button and turn around to see everyone moving on without me. I realize how glad they are to have the Israeli woman back, but it still hurts that out of everyone that said goodbye, Tony wasn't among them.

In the group, Gibbs looks up, and we smile across the bullpen. The elevator dings, and I turn to find Tony riding alone. Stepping on, I reach out and hold the door with my foot.

"Go," I motion with my chin, "Be with them. It would mean a lot to everyone, I think." Tony shakes his head.

"No. She doesn't want to see me."

"Anthony DiNozzo, she's your friend… and whether or not she says it, she'll be grateful to see you. You can't spend the rest of your NCIS career hiding from her." The elevator dings at me and I ignore it.

"I can sure try," he says, peering around outside the door.

"Tony," I say, pulling him around to face me, "Be a man and face her. She at least deserves that. David looks like she's been through hell and back, she needs her best friend. And like it or not, that's still you." He turns to glance out the door and then back at me.

Nodding he says, "You're right… you're right. She's still my partner… and I need to be the bigger man," he gets off the elevator and takes about three purposeful strides before turning around and coming back.

"Go _on_, you wuss." I say. He picks me up in an awkward sideways hug. Behind us, the doors close.

"Dammit, Tony… now I have to call the elevator again." I complain. He blows my comment off.

"Thanks, Cam. I'm going to miss having you around," He sets me back on the floor.

I bite my lip, choosing my words carefully, "No… you're not." He smiles, and pats me on the cheek before disappearing around the corner. I turn around and call the elevator again.

This time while I'm waiting, I don't look back.

A/N: This has been written for a while, I'm just now posting it for the lovely skidney… Thanks for sticking with it. I hope you enjoy the final chapter.


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